THE 


DESERTED   BRIDE: 


AND 


OTHER  POEMS. 


BY    GEORGE     P.    MORRIS. 


Ncro-Uork : 

D.   APPLETON    &    CO.    200    BROADWAY 


MDCCCXM  I  I 


BvtOTed  according  to  Act  of  Congrew  of  the  United  State*  of  America,  by 

D.  APPLETON  fc  Co. 
In  the  Clerk^  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New-York. 


HOI-KIN-    AND  JKNNtXOH, 

111  FultooHreet 


TO 


THEODORE    S.   FAY,  ESQ. 


SECRETARY  OF  THE  AMERICAN  LEGATION,  NEAJl  THE  COURT  OF  BERLIN, 


ARE  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 


BT    HIS    FRIEND, 


THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


>'  -•• 

THE   DESERTED  BRIDE.  (Illustrated  by  J.  G.  Chapman.) • 

WOMAN 13 

WHEN  OTHER  FRIENDS  ARE  ROUND  THEE 15 

WE  WERE  BOYS  TOGETHER.  (Uhwtrated  by  J.  G.  Chapman  ) 16 

THE  BACCHANAL.  (Illiuiratod   by  J.  G.  Chapman.) lfc 

THE  DISMISSED.  ( Illustrated  by  J.  G.  Chapman  ) S* 

THE  CONQUEST.  (Illustrated  by  J.  G.  Chapman.) 25 

JANET  McREA 33 

LINES  AFTER  THE  MANNER  OF  THE  OLDEN   TIME 35 

RHYME  AND  REASON,  AN  APOLOGUE 37 

WOODMAN,  SPARE  THAT  TREE 30 

LOVE  THEE,  DEAREST 41 

MY  MOTHER'S    BIHLE 42 

WEARIES  MY  LOVE    OF  MY  LETTERS 44 

NATIONAL    ANTHEM 45 

I  NEVER  HAVE  BEEN  FALSE  TO  THEE 47 

ROSABEL 49 

SILENT    GRIEF  51 

THE  SEASONS  OF  LOVE M 

SOUTHERN  REFRAIN— NEAR  THE  LAKE 54 

WELL-A-DAY 55 

I'M  WITH  YOU  ONCE  AGAIN • 

STARLIGHT    RECOLLECTIONS 58 

MY  WOODLAND  BRIDE 59 

THE  DAY   IS  NOW  DAWNING,  LOVE «U 

THINK  OF   ME 88 

A  SCENE   AT  SEA 63 

OH  WOULD  THAT  SHE  WERE  HERE 64 

THE  CHIEFTAIN'S  DAUGHTER W 

THE  EVERGREEN 67 

WHERE  HUDSON'S  WAVE 88 

SHE  LOVED    HIM TO 

TWENTY  YEARS  AGO .  71 

LAND  HO! 7* 

THE  COT   NEAR  THE  WOOD 74 

OPEN  THY  LATTICE 75 

LADY  OF   ENGLAND 77 


OUR  PATRIOT  SIRES 78 

OH,  THIS  LOVE. 79 

THE  BEAM  OF  DEVOTION 80 

AU  REVOIR 81 

LOVE,  HONOUR  AND  OBEY 82 

BESSY  BELI , 83 

THE  EXILE  TO  HIS  SISTER 85 

MY  BARK  IS  OUT  UPON  THE  SEA 86 

SALLY  ST.  CLA1R 87 

THE  SUITORS gg 

THE  CARRIER-DOVE 90 

WESTERN    REFRAIN 90 

WILL  NOBODY  MARRY  ME? 94 

THE  BALL-ROOM  BELLE 90 

THE  MINIATURE yy 

THE   RETORT 99 

LINES  TO  A  POET 100 

THE  COLONEL 102 

I  LOVE  THE  NIGHT ]04 

THE  MAY  UUEEN 103 

VENETIAN   SERENADE ."    ]07 

THE  WHIP  POOR-WILL.  (Illustrated  by  R.  W.  Weir.) 109 

SONGS  AND  DUETS  FROM  THE  MAID  OF  SAXONY 145 

THE  GENTLE  BIRD  ON  YONDER  SPRAY 145 

WHEN  I  BEHOLD  THAT  LOWERING  BROW 146 

ALL  SHOULD  WED  FOR  LOVE 147 

TIS  A  SOLDIER'S   RIGID  DUTY 14ti 

THE  LAND  OF  THE  HEART 149 

LOVE  IS  NOT  A  GARDEN  FLOWER ]50 

THE  KING,  THE  PRINCES  OF  THE  COURT 15l 

THE  MIDNIGHT  BELL I52 

SWAY'D  BY  SMILES  FROM  THEE "     153 

THE  PERFECTION   OF  REASON 154 

THE  CROTON   ODE ......'.    155 

ADDRESS  FOR  THE  DUNLAP  BENEFIT 159 

ADDHESS  FOR  THE  KNOWLES  BENEFIT m 

ADDRESS  FOR  THE  PLACIDE  BENEFIT 165" 

NOTES ......'...     ]69 

LETTER  TO  HENRY  RUS8EL,  onclo.ing  "  Woodman,  .pare  that  tree." '.     169 

JANET  McREA 17Q 

POCAHONTA8 .......!!..!!.!     .     m 

SALLY  ST.   CLAIR .'.'..........     173 

AH!   LOVE  IS  NOT  A  GARDEN  FLOWER J7« 

G 


THE  DESERTED  BRIDE. 


St'OtitSTKIi    BY 


A   SCENE    IN    THE    PLAY   OP    THE    HUNCHBACK, 


RESPECTFULLY   INSCRIBED   TO 


JAMES  SHERIDAN  KNOWLES,  ESQ. 


"  LOVE  me  !  —  No  —  he  never  loved  me !" 
Else  he'd  sooner  die  tlwn  stain 

One  so  fond  as  he  has  proved  me 

With  the  hollow  world's  disdain. 

r,i!s<   one,  go  —  my  doom  is  SJM»I<« -n. 

And  the  srll  that  hound  me  hrokcn  ! 


Wed  him !  —  Never. —  He  has  lost  me  !  - 

Tears  !  —  Well,  let  them  flow  !  — -  His  bride  ? 

No.  —  The  struggle  life  may  cost  me  ! 
But  he'll  find  that  I  have  pride ! 

Love  is  not  an  idle  flower, 

Blooms  and  dies  the  self-same  hour. 

Title,  land,  and  broad  dominion, 

With  himself  to  me  he  gave ; 
Stoop'd  to  earth  his  spirit's  pinion, 

And  became  my  willing  slave  ! 
Knelt  and  pray'd  until  he  won  me  — 
Looks  he  coldly  now  upon  me  ? 

Ingrate  !  —  Never  sure  was  maiden 
Wrong'd  so  foul  as  I.     With  grief 

My  true  breast  is  overladen  — 
Tears  afford  me  no  relief— 

Every  nerve  is  strain'd  and  aching, 

And  my  very  heart  is  breaking ! 

10 


Love  I  him  ? — Thus  scorn'd  and  slighted— 
Thrown,  like  worthless  weed,  apart— 
Hopes  and  feelings  seard  and  blighted— 

Love  him  ? — Yes,  with  all  my  heart ! 
With  a  passion  superhuman- 
Constancy,  "  thy  name  is  woman." 

Love  nor  time  nor  mood  can  fashion — 
Love  ? — Idolatry's  the  word 

To  speak  the  broadest,  deepest  passion, 
Ever  woman's  heart  hath  stirrd  ! 

Vain  to  still  the  mind's  desires, 

Which  consume  like  hidden  fires  ! 

Wreck'd  and  wretched,  lost  and  lonely, 
Crush'd  by  griefs  oppressive  weight, 

With  a  prayer  for  Clifford  only, 
I  resign  me  to  my  fate. 

Chains  that  bind  the  soul  I've  proven 

Strong  as  they  were  iron-woven. 
11 


Deep  the  wo  that  fast  is  sending 

From  my  cheek  its  healthful  bloom  ; 

Sad  my  thoughts  as  willows  bending 
O'er  the  borders  of  the  tomb. 

Without  Clifford  not  a  blessing 

In  the  world  is  worth  possessing. 

Wealth  ! — a  straw  within  the  balance, 

Opposed  to  love,  'twill  strike  the  beam 

Kindred — friendship — beauty — talents  ! — 
All  to  love  as  nothing  seem ; 

Weigh  love  against  all  else  together, 

As  solid  gold  against  a  feather. 

Hope  is  flown — away  disguises — 

Naught  but  death  relief  can  give — 

For  the  love  he  little  prizes 

Cannot  cease  and  Julia  live ! 

Soon  my  thread  of  life  will  sever— 

Clifford,  fare  thee  well — for  ever ! 
12 


WOMAN. 

AH,  woman  ! — in  this  world  of  ours, 

What  boon  can  be  compared  to  thee  ?— 

How  slow  would  drag  life's  weary  hours, 

Tho'  man's  proud  brow  were  bound  with  flowers, 
And  his  the  wealth  of  land  and  sea, 

If  destined  to  exist  alone, 

And  ne'er  call  woman's  heart  his  own  ! 

My  mother  ! — At  that  holy  name 

Within  my  bosom  there's  a  gush 

Of  feeling  which  no  time  can  tame, 

A  feeling,  which  for  years  of  fame, 
I  would  not,  could  not  crush  ! 

And  sisters  ! — ye  are  dear  as  life, 

But  when  I  look  upon  my  wife 

My  heart-blood  gives  a  sudden  rush, 
H 


And  all  my  fond  affections  blend 
In  mother — sisters — wife  and  friend  ! 

Yes,  woman's  love  is  free  from  guile 

And  pure  as  bright  Aurora's  ray ; 
The  heart  will  melt  before  her  smile, 

And  base-born  passions  fade  away  ! 
Were  I  the  monarch  of  the  earth, 

Or  master  of  the  swelling  sea, 
I  would  not  estimate  their  worth, 

Deal-  woman,  half  the  price  of  thee. 


11 


WHEN  OTHER  FKIIiMlX  ARE  ROUND  THEE 

WHEN  other  friends  are  round  thee, 

And  other  hearts  are  thine. 
When  other  bays  have  crown'd  thee, 

More  fresh  and  green  than  mine, 
Then  think  how  sad  and  lonely 

This  doating  heart  will  be, 
Which  while  it  throbs,  throbs  only, 

Beloved  one,  for  thee  ! 

Yet  do  not  think  I  doubt  thee, 

I  know  thy  truth  remains : 
I  would  not  live  without  thee, 

For  all  the  world  contains. 
Thou  art  the  star  that  guides  me 

Along  life's  troubled  sea ; 
And  whatever  fate  betides  me, 

This  heart  still  turns  to  thee. 

15 


- 


WE  WERE  HOYS  TOGETHER. 

WE  were  hoys  together, 

And  never  can  forget 
The  school-house  near  the  heather, 

In  childhood  where  we  met : 
Nor  the  green  home,  to  memory  dear, 

Its  sorrows  and  its  joys, 
Which  call'd  the  transient  smile  or  tear 

When  you  and  I  were  boys. 
16 


We  were  youths  together, 

And  castles  built  in  air ; 
Your  heart  was  like  a  feather, 

While  mine  was  dash'd  with  care. 
To  you  came  wealth  with  manhood's  prime, 

To  me  it  brought  alloys 
Ne'er  imaged  in  the  primrose  time 

When  you  and  I  were  boys. 


We're  old  men  together  ; 

The  friends  we  loved  of  yore, 
With  leaves  of  autumn  weather, 

Are  gone  for  evermore. 
How  bless'd  to  age  the  impulse  given— 

The  hope  time  ne'er  destroys — 
Which  led  our  thoughts  from  earth  to  heaven, 

When  you  and  I  were  boys. 


17 


THE  BACCHANAL. 

BESIDF.  a  cottage  door 

Sung  Ella  at  her  wheel ; 
Ruthven  rode  o'er  the  moor, 

Down  at  her  feet  to  kneel  : 
A  spotted  palfrey  gay 

Came  ambling  at  his  side, 
To  bear  the  maid  away 

As  his  affianced  bride. 

A  high-born  noble  he 

Of  stately  halls  secure  ; 
A  low-born  peasant  she, 

Of  parentage  obscure. 
How  soft  the  honied  words 

He  breathes  into  her  ears  ! 
The  melody  of  birds  ! 

The  music  of  the  spheres  ! 
18 


With  love  her  bosom  swells, 

Which  she  would  fain 
Her  eyes,  like  crystal  wells, 

Its  hidden  depths  revml. 
While  liquid  diamonds  drip 

Fi-Hin  ire] HILT'S  fountain  warm. 
Flutters  her  scarlet  lip  - 

A  rose-leaf  in  a  storm  ! 


I'.i 


As  from  an  April  sky 

The  rain-clouds  flit  away, 
So  from  the  maiden's  eye, 

Vanish'd  the  falling  spray, 
Which  linger'd  but  awhile 

Her  dimpled  cheek  upon, 
Then  melted  in  her  smile 

Like  vapour  in  the  sun. 


The  maid  is  all  his  own  — 

She  trusts  his  plighted  word, 
And,  lightly  on  the  roan, 

She  springs  beside  her  lord. 
She  leaves  her  father's  cot, 

She  turns  her  from  the  door  — 
That  green  and  holy  spot 

Which  she  will  see  no  more  ! 


They  hied  to  foreign  lands. 

That  lord  and  peasant-maid : 
The  church  ne'er  bless'd  their  bands, 

And  Ella  was  betrayed ! 
Then  droop'd  that  lovely  flower, 

Torn  from  its  parent  stem  ; 
Then  fled  in  evil  hour, 

The  light  from  out  that  gem. 


They  laid  her  in  the  ground. 

And  Ella  was  forgot  — 
Dead  was  her  father  found 

In  his  deserted  cot. 
But  Ruth ven  —  what  of  him? 

He  ran  their  story  o'er, 
And,  filling  to  the  brim, 

He  thought  of  it  no  more  ! 


THE  DISMISSED. 

"I  suppose  »he  was  right  in  rejecting  my  suit, 
But  why  did  she  kick  me  down  stn 

Halltck'i    Discarded. 

THE  wing  of  my  spirit  is  broken, 

My  day-star  of  hope  has  declined  ; 
For  a  month  not  a  word  have  I  spoken, 

That's  either  polite  or  refined. 
My  mind's  like  the  sky  in  bad  weather 

When  mist-clouds  around  us  are  curl'd : 
And,  viewing  myself  altogether, 

I'm  the  veriest  wretch  in  the  world. 

m 


I  wander  ulxuit  like  a  vagrant, 

I  spend  half  my  time  in  the  street ; 
My  conduct's  improper  and  flagrant. 

For  I  quarrel  with  all  that  I  meet. 
My  dress  too  is  wholly  neglected, 

My  hat  I  pull  over  my  brow, 
And  I  look  like  a  fellow  suspected 

Of  wishing  to  kick  up  a  row. 

At  home  I'm  an  object  of  horror 

To  boarder  and  waiter  and  maid  ; 
But  my  landlady  views  me  with  sorrow, 

When  she  thinks  of  the  bill  that's  unpaid. 
Abroad  my  acquaintances  flout  me, 

The  ladies  cry,  "  Bless  us,  look  there  !" 
And  the  little  boys  cluster  about  me, 

And  sensible  citizens  stare. 

One  says,  "  He's  a  victim  to  Cupid," 
Another,  "His  conduct's  too  bad," 

A  third,  "  He  is  awfully  stupid/' 
A  fourth,  "  He  is  perfectly  mad  ;?T 


And  then  I  am  watch'd  like  a  bandit, 
My  friends  with  me  all  are  at  strife— 

By  heaven,  no  longer  I'll  stand  it, 
But  quick  put  an  end  to  my  life  ! 

I've  thought  of  the  means — yet  I  shudder 

At  dagger  or  ratsbane  or  rope ; 
At  drawing  with  lancet  my  blood,  or 

At  razor  without  any  soap. 
Suppose  I  should  fall  in  a  duel, 

And  thus  leave  the  stage  with  eclat ; 
But  to  die  with  a  bullet  is  cruel, 

Besides  'twould  be  breaking  the  law. 

Yet  one  way  remains — to  the  river 

I'll  fly  from  the  goadings  of  care- 
But  drown? — oh  the  thought  makes  me  shiver — 

A  terrible  death  I  declare. 
Ah  no  !  HI  once  more  see  my  Kitty, 

And  parry  her  cruel  disd.mi. 
Beseech  her  to  take  me  in  pity, 

And  never  dismiss  me  again. 
M 


NQUEST; 

CT   x*  :X=:AN 


THEY  come !  —  Be  firm  —  in  silence  rally  ! 

The  long-knives  our  retreat  have  found  ! 
Hark  !  —  their  tramp  is  in  the  valley, 

And  they  hem  the  forest  round  ! 


s 


The  burthen'd  boughs  with  pale  scouts  quiver, 

The  echoing  hills  tumultuous  rinir. 
While  across  the  eddying  river 

Their  harks,  like  loumiiiir  war-steeds,  spring! 
The  blood-hounds  darken  land  and  water, 
They  eome    -like  buiialoes  for  slaughter! 


See  their  glittering  files  advancing. 
See  upon  the  free  winds  dancing, 

Pennon  proud  and  gaudy  plume : 
The  strangers  come  in  evil  hour, 
In  jxmip  and  panoply  and  power, 
To  plant  a  weed  where  bloom'd  a  flower, 
Where  sunshine  broke  to  spread  a  shower, 
And,  while  upon  our  tribes  ihry  lower, 


Think  they  our  manly  hearts  will  cower. 
To  meet  a  warriors  doom? 


Right  they  forget  while  strength  they  feel ; 
Our  blood  they  drain,  our  hind  they  steal ; 
And  should  the  van«jiiish'd  Indian  kneel, 

They  spurn  him  from  their  sight ! 
Be  set  forever  in  disgr, 
The  glory  of  the  red-man's  race, 
If  from  the  foe  he  turns  his  face, 

Or  safety  seeks  in  flight ! 


They  come  !  —  up  and  upon  them,  braves  ! 
\  V_rl»t  for  your  altars  and  your  graves  ! 


Drive  back  the  stern,  invading  slaves, 

In  fight  till  now  victorious  ! 
Like  lightning  from  storm-clouds  on  high, 
The  hurtling  death- wirig'd  arrows  fly, 
And  wind-rows  of  pale  warriors  die  !  — 
O  !  never  has  the  sun's  bright  eye 
Look'd  from  his  hill-tops  in  the  sky, 
Upon  a  field  so  glorious  ! 

28 


Thry're  crone  —  again  the  red-men  rally, 

With  dance  and  song  the  woods  resound 
The  hatchet's  huried  in  the  valley ; 

V)  lot-  profanes  our  himtinir-groimd  ! 


f. 

*  ^v 

:«fci,_ 


The  green  leaves  on  the  blithe  boughs  quiver, 

The  verdant  hills  with  song-birds  ring, 
While  our  bark-canoes,  the  river 

Skim  like  swallows  on  the  wing. 
29 


Mirth  pervades  the  land  and  water, 
Free  from  famine,  sword  and  slaughter  ! 


******* 


Let  us  by  this  gentle  river, 
Blunt  the  axe  and  break  the  quiver, 
While,  as  leaves  upon  the  spray, 
Peaceful  flow  our  cares  away  ! 


******* 


Yet,  alas !  the  hour  is  brief, 
Left  for  either  joy  or  grief, 
All  on  earth  that  we  inherit 
From  the  hands  of  the  Great  Spirit. 


Wigwam,  hill,  plain,  lake  and  field, 
To  the  white-man  must  we  yield  ; 
For,  like  sunbeams  in  the  waves, 
We  are  sinking  to  our  graves  ! 


From  this  wilderness  of  wo 
Like  a  caravan  we  go, 
Leaving  all  our  groves  and  streams 
For  the  far-off  land  of  dreams. 
There  are  prairies,  waving  liiirh. 
Boundless  as  the  sheeted  sky, 
Where  our  fathers'  spirits  num. 
And  the  red-man  has  a  In  HIM*. 


I  ,<-t  nadiiioii  tell  our  story 

\s    \vr    l;i(lr    III 


31 


As  we  seek  the  land  of  rest 
Beyond  the  borders  of  the  west, 
No  eye  but  ours  may  look  upon  — 

WE  ARE  THE  CHILDREN  OF  THK 


.if* 


JANET  McRBA.  * 

SHK  heard  the  light  was  over, 

And  won  the  wreath  of  fame  ! 
When  tidings  from  her  lover, 

With  his  good  war-steed  came. 
To  guard  her  safely  to  his  tent, 
The  red-men  of  the  woods  were  sent. 

They  led  her  where  sweet  waters  gusli 
Under  the  pine-tree  bough  ! 

The  tomahawk  is  raised  to  crush, — 
'Tis  buried  in  her  brow  ! 
She  sleeps  beneath  that  pine-tree  now  ! 

Her  broken-hearted  lover 

In  hopeless  conflict  died  ! 
The  forest  leaves  now  cover 

That  soldier  and  his  bride  ! 
The  frown  of  the  Great  Spirit  fell 
Upon  the  red-men  like  a  spell ! 

No  more  those  waters  slake  their  thirst, 
Shadeless  to  them  that  tree  ! 

O'er  land  and  lake  they  roam  accurst, 
And  in  the  clouds  they  see 
Thy  spirit  unavenged,  McRea  ! 


LINES 


AFTER  THE  MANNER  OF  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 


OH  Love  !  the  mischief  thou  hast  done  ! 

Thou  god  of  pleasure  and  of  pain  ! 
None  can  escape  thee — yes,  there's  one  !— 

All  others  wear  thy  heavy  chain  ! 
Thou  cause  of  all  my  smiles  and  tears  ! 
Thou  blight  and  bloom  of  all  my  years  ! 


Thy  throne's  the  heart,  despotic  boy ! 

And  there  thou  reign'st -without  control ; 
Thy  frown  is  grief,  thy  glance  is  joy, 

Thy  smile  the  sunbeam  of  the  soul. 
The  buds  of  spring,  the  leaves  of  fall, 
Thou  wearest  in  thy  coronal ! 
34 


Love  maketh  glad  or  maketh  sad- 
Love  is  a  tyrant  and  a  slave  ! 

The  bad  makes  good — the  good  makes  bad— 
The  coward  nerves — appals  the  brave  !— 

Love  glistens  in  the  maiden's  eyes, 

And  breathes  in  kisses,  sobs  and  sighs ! 


Love  bathes  him  in  the  morning's  dews, 

Reclines  him  in  the  lily's  bell- 
Reposes  in  the  rainbow's  hues, 

And  bubbles  in  the  crystal  well ; 
Or  hies  him  to  the  coral  caves, 
Where  sea-nymphs  sport  beneath  the  waves. 


Love  vibrates  in  the  wind-harp's  tune, 
With  fays  and  fairies  lingers  he — 

Gleams  in  the  ring  of  the  watery  moon, 
Or  treads  the  pebbles  of  the  sea : 

Love  enters  "  court  and  camp  and  grove  ;r 

Oh,  everywhere  we  meet  thee,  Love ! 
85 


And  everywhere  he  welcome  finds — 
Through  cottage-door  or  palace-porch 

Love  enters  free  as  spicy-winds, 

With  purple  wings  and  lighted  torch, 

With  tripping  feet  and  silvery  tongue, 

And  bow  and  darts  behind  him  slung  ! 


He  tinkles  in  the  shepherd's  bell, 

And  charms  the  village  maiden's  ear ; 

By  lattice  high  he  weaves  his  spell 
For  ladye-fair  and  cavalier. 

As  sunbeams  melt  the  mountain  snow, 

So  melt  Love's  rays  the  high  and  low. 


Then  why,  ye  nymphs  Arcadian,  why, 
Since  Love  is  roaming  as  the  air, 

Why  does  he  not  to  Lelia  fly, 

And  warm  that  cold  and  haughty  fair  ? 

Scorn  rules  alone  her  swelling  heart : 

She  scoffs  at  Love  and  all  his  art ! 


Oh,  boy-god,  Love  ! — an  archer  thou — 
Thy  utmost  skill  I  fain  would  test ; 

One  arrow  aim  at  Lelia  now, 
And  let  thy  target  be  her  breast ! 

Around  her  heart,  oh  fling  thy  chain, 

Or  give  me  back  my  own  again  ! 


RHYME  AND  REASON. 

AN    APOLOGUE. 

Two  children,  in  the  olden  time, 

In  Flora's  primrose  season, 
Were  born.     The  name  of  one  was  Rhyme, 

That  of  the  other  Reason  ; 
And  both  were  beautiful  and  fair, 
Pure  as  the  mountain  stream  and  air. 

As  the  boys  together  grew. 

'Happy  fled  their  hours — 
Grief  or  care  they:  never  knew 

In  the  Paphian  bowers. 
See  them  roaming,  hand  in  hand, 
The  pride  of  all  the  choral  band. 
37 


Music  with  harp  of  golden  strings, 
Love  with  bow  and  quiver, 

Airy  sprites  on  radiant  wings, 
Nymphs  of  wood  and  river, 

Join'd  the  muses'  thrilling  song, 

As  Rhyme  and  Reason  pass'd  along. 

But  the  scene  was  changed — the  boys 

Left  their  native  soil- 
Rhyme's  pursuit  was  idle  joys, 

Reason's,  manly  toil : 
Soon  Rhyme  was  starving  in  a  ditch, 
While  Reason  grew  exceeding  rich. 

Since  that  dark  and  fatal  hour, 

When  the  brothers  parted, 
Reason  has  had  wealth  and  power — 

Rhyme's  poor  and  broken-hearted  ! 
And  now,  or  bright  or  stormy  weather, 
They  twain  are  seldom  seen  together. 


WOODMAN,  SPARE  THAT  TREE. 


WOODMAN,  spare  that  tree  ! 

Touch  not  a  single  bough  ! 
In  youtli  it  shelter'd  me, 

And  I'll  protect  it  now. 
?Twas  my  forefather's  hand 

That  placed  it  near  his  cot ; 
There,  woodman,  let  it  stand, 

Thy  axe  shall  harm  it  not! 


That  old  familiar  tree, 

Whose  glory  and  renown 
Are  spread  o'er  land  and  sea, 

And  wouldst  tliou  hack  it  down  ? 
Woodman,  forbear  thy  stroke ! 

Cut  not  its  earth-bound  ties ; 
Oh,  spare  that  aged  oak, 

Now  towering  to  the  skies  ! 


When  but  an  idle  boy 

I  sought  its  grateful  shade  : 
In  all  their  gushing  joy 

Here  too  my  sisters  play'd. 
My  mother  kiss'd  me  here ; 

My  father  press'd  my  hand — 
Forgive  this  foolish  tear, 

But  let  that  old  oak  stand  ! 


My  heart-strings  round  thee  cling, 

Close  as  thy  bark,  old  friend  ! 
Here  shall  the  wild-bird  sing, 

And  still  thy  branches  bend. 
Old  tree  !  the  storm  still  brave  ! 

And,  woodman,  leave  the  spot ; 
While  I've  a  hand  to  save, 

Thy  axe  shall  harm  it  not. 


40 


LOVE  THEE,  DEAREST? 


LOVE  thee,  dearest? — Hear  me. — Never 

Will  my  fond  vows  be  forgot ! 
May  I  perish,  and  forever, 

When,  dear  maid,  I  love  thee  not ! 
Then  turn  not  from  me,  dearest ! — Listen ! 

Banish  all  thy  doubts  and  fears ! 
And  let  thine  eyes  with  transport  glisten  ! 

What  hast  thou  to  do  with  tears  ? 

Dry  them,  dearest ! — Ah,  believe  me, 

Love's  bright  flame  is  burning  still ! 
Though  the  hollow  world  deceive  thee, 

Here's  a  heart  that  never  will  ! 
Dost  thou  smile  ? — A  cloud  of  sorrow 

Breaks  before  Joy's  rising  sun  ! 
Wilt  thou  give  thy  hand  ? — To-morrow 

Hymen,  dearest,  makes  us  one  ! 
41 


MY  MOTHER'S  BIBLE. 


THIS  book  is  all  that's  left  me  now  ! 

Tears  will  unbidden  start ; 
With  faltering  lip  and  throbbing  brow, 

I  press  it  to  my  heart. 
For  many  generations  passed, 

Here  in  our  family  tree ; 
My  mother's  hands  this  Bible  clasp'd ; 

She,  dying,  gave  it  me. 

Ah !  well  do  I  remember  those 

Whose  names  these  records  bear : 
Who  round  the  hearth-stone  used  to  close, 

After  the  evening  prayer, 
And  speak  of  what  these  pages  said, 

In  tones  my  heart  would  thrill  ! 
Though  they  are  with  the  silent  dead, 

Here  are  they  living  still  ! 
42 


My  father  read  this  holy  book 

To  brothers,  sisters  dear ; 
How  calm  was  my  poor  mother's  look, 

Who  lean'd  God's  word  to  hear. 
Her  angel  face— I  see  it  yet ! 

What  vivid  memories  come  ! 
Again  that  little  group  is  met 

Within  the  halls  of  home ! 

Thou  truest  friend  man  ever  knew, 

Thy  constancy  I've  tried  ; 
When  all  were  false  I  found  thee  true, 

My  counsellor  and  guide. 
The  mines  of  earth  no  treasures  give 

That  could  this  volume  buy : 
In  teaching  me  the  way  to  live, 

It  taught  me  how  to  die. 


WEARIES  MY  LOVE  OF  MY  LETTERS? 


WEARIES  my  love  of  my  letters? 

Does  she  my  silence  command  ? 
Sunders  she  Love's  golden  fetters 

As  though  they  were  woven  of  sand  ? 
Tires  she  too  of  each  token 

Indited  with  many  a  sigh  ? 
Are  all  her  promises  broken? 

And  must  I  love  on  till  I  die? 


Thinks  my  dear  love  that  I  blame  her 

With  what  was  a  burden  to  part  ? 
Ah,  no  ! — with  affection  I'll  name  her 

While  lingers  a  pulse  in  my  heart. 
Although  she  has  clouded  with  sadness, 

And  blighted  the  bloom  of  my  years, 
I  love  her  still,  even  to  madness, 

And  bless  her  through  showers  of  tears  ! 
44 


My  pen  I  have  laid  down  in  sorrow, 

The  songs  of  my  lute  I  forego, 
From  neither  assistance  I'll  borrow 

To  utter  my  heart-seated  wo  ! 
But  peace  to  her  bosom,  wherever 

Her  thoughts  or  her  footsteps  may  stray 
Memento  of  mine  again  never 

Will  shadow  the  light  of  her  way  ! 


NATIONAL  ANTHEM. 


FREEDOM  spreads  her  downy  wings 
Over  all  created  things  : 
Glory  to  the  King  of  kings, 

Bend  low  to  him  the  knee ! 
Bring  the  heart  before  His  throne — 
Worship  Him  and  Him  alone  !— 
He's  the  only  King  we  own — 

And  He  has  made  us  free  ! 
45 


The  holiest  spot  a  smiling  sun 
E'er  shed  its  genial  rays  upon, 
Is  that  which  gave  a  Washington, 

The  drooping  world  to  cheer  ! 
Sound  the  clarion-peals  of  fame  ! 
Ye  who  bear  Columbia's  name  ! — 
With  existence  freedom  came, 

It  is  man's  birth-right  here ! 

Heirs  of  an  immortal  sire, 

Let  his  deeds  your  hearts  inspire ; 

Weave  the  strain  and  wake  the  lyre 

Where  your  proud  altars  stand ! 
Hail  with  pride  and  loud  hurrahs, 
Streaming  from  a  thousand  spars, 
Freedom's  rainbow-flag  of  stars  ! 

The  symbol  of  our  land  ! 


I  NEVER  HAVE  BEEN  FALSE  TO  THEE. 


I  NKVER  have  been  false  to  thee ! 

The  heart  I  gave  thee  still  is  thine  ; 
Though  thon  hast  been  untrue  to  me, 

And  I  no  more  may  call  thee  mine ! 
I've  loved,  as  woman  ever  loves, 

With  constant  soul  in  good  or  ill  ;— 
Thou'st  proved  as  man  too  often  proves, 

A  rover — but  I  love  thee  still ! 

Yet  think  not  that  my  spirit  stoops 

To  bind  thee  captive  in  my  train  !— 
Love's  not  a  flower,  at  sunset  droops, 

But  smiles  when  comes  her  god  again  ! 
Thy  words,  which  fall  unheeded  now, 

Could  once  my  heart-strings  madly  thrill  ! 
Love's  golden  chain  and  burning  vow 

Are  broken — but  I  love  thee  still ! 
47 


Once  what  a  heaven  of  bliss  was  ours, 

When  love  dispelPd  the  clouds  of  care, 
And  time  went  by  with  birds  and  flowers, 

While  song  and  incense  fill'd  the  air ! 
The  past  is  mine — the  present  thine — 

Should  thoughts  of  me  thy  future  fill, 
Think  what  a  destiny  is  mine, 

To  lose — but  love  thee,  false  one,  still ! 


ROSABEL. 


I  MISS  thee  from  my  side,  beloved, 

I  miss  thee  from  my  side  ; 
And  wearily  and  drearily, 

Flows  Time's  resistless  tide. 
The  world,  and  all  its  fleeting  joys, 

To  me  are  worse  than  vain, 
Until  I  clasp  thee  to  my  heart, 

Beloved  one,  again. 
48 


The  wildwood  of  the  forest  path, 

We  used  to  thread  of  yore, 
With  bird  and  bee  have  flown  with  thee, 

And  gone  for  evermore  ! 
Th« -re  is  no  music  in  the  grove, 

No  echo  on  the  hill ; 
Hut  melancholy  boughs  are  there, 

And  hush'd  the  whip-poor-will. 


I  miss  thee  in  the  town,  beloved, 

I  miss  thee  in  the  town ; 
From  morn  I  grieve  till  dewy  eve 

Spreads  wide  its  mantle  brown. 
My  spirit's  wings,  that  once  could  soar 

In  fancy's  world  of  air, 
Are  crush'd  and  beaten  to  the  ground 

By  life-corroding  care. 


No  more  I  hear  thy  bird-like  voice, 

Nor  see  thy  winning  face  ; 
That  once  would  gleam  like  morning's  beam 

In  mental  pride  and  grace  : 

49*  o 


Thy  form  of  matchless  symmetry, 
In  sweet  perfection  cast— 

It  is  the  star  of  memory 

That  fades  not  with  the  past. 


I  miss  thee  everywhere,  beloved, 

I  miss  thee  everywhere ; 
Both  night  and  day  wear  dull  away, 

And  leave  me  in  despair. 
The  banquet-hall,  the  play,  the  ball, 

And  childhood's  gladsome  glee, 
Have  lost  their  charms  for  me,  beloved, 

My  soul  is  full  of  thee ! 


Has  Rosabel  forgotten  me, 

And  love  I  now  in  vain  ? 
If  that  be  so,  my  heart  can  know 

On  earth  no  rest  again. 
A  sad  and  weary  lot  is  mine, 

To  love  and  be  forgot, 
A  sad  and  weary  lot,  beloved, 

A  sad  and  weary  lot. 
50 


SILENT  GRIEF. 


WHERE  is  now  my  peace  of  mind? 

Gone,  alas  !  for  evermore  : 
Turn  where'er  I  may,  I  find 

Thorns  where  roses  bloom'd  before. 
O'er  the  green-fields  of  my  soul, 

Where  the  springs  of  joy  were  found, 
Now  the  clouds  of  sorrow  roll, 

Shading  all  the  prospect  round  ! 

Do  I  merit  pangs  like  these, 

That  have  cleft  my  heart  in  twain  ? 
Must  I,  to  the  very  lees, 

Drain  thy  bitter  chalice,  Pain  ? 
Silent  grief  all  grief  excels  ; 

Life  and  it  together  part, 
Like  a  restless  worm  it  dwells 

Deep  within  the  human  heart ! 
51 


THE  SEASONS  OF  LOVE. 


THE  spring-time  of  love 

Is  both  happy  and  gay, 
For  joy  sprinkles  blossoms 

And  balm  in  our  way  : 
The  sky,  earth  and  ocean 

In  beauty  repose, 
And  all  the  bright  future 

Is  couleur  de  rose. 

The  summer  of  love 

Is  the  bloom  of  the  heart, 
When  hill,  grove  and  valley 

Their  music  impart, 
And  the  pure  glow  of  heaven 

Is  seen  in  fond  eyes, 
As  lakes  show  the  rainbow 

That's  hung  in  the  skies. 
52 


The  autumn  of  love 

Is  the  season  of  cheer, 
1,  He's  mild  Indian  summer, 

The  smile  of  the  year ; 
Which  comes  when  the  golden 

Ripe  harvest  is  stored, 
And  yields  its  own  blessings — 

Repose  and  reward. 

The  winter  of  love 

Is  the  beam  that  we  win, 
While  the  storm  howls  without. 

From  the  sunshine  within. 
Love's  reign  is  eternal, 

The  heart  is  his  throne, 
And  he  has  all  seasons 

Of  life  for  his  own. 


SOUTHERN  REFRAIN. 


NEAR  the  lake  where  droop'd  the  willow, 

Long  time  ago ! 
Where  the  rock  threw  back  the  billow, 

Brighter  than  snow ; 
Dwelt  a  maid  beloved  and  cherish'd, 

By  high  and  low  ; 
But  with  autumn's  leaf  she  perish'd 

Long  time  ago  ! 

Rock  and  tree  and  flowing  water, 

Long  time  ago ! 
Bee  and  bird  and  blossom  taught  her 

Love's  spell  to  know  ! 
While  to  my  fond  words  she  listen'd 

Murmuring  low, 
Tenderly  her  dove-eyes  glisten'd 

Long  time  ago  ! 
54 


Mingled  were  our  hearts  forever  ! 

Long  time  ago  ! 
Can  I  now  forget  her  ? — Never  !— 

No,  lost  one,  no  ! 
To  her  grave  these  tears  are  given, 

Ever  to  flow  ; 
She's  the  star  I  miss'd  from  heaven, 

Long  time  ago  ! 

WELL-A-DAY. 

LOVE  conies  and  goes  like  a  spell ! 
How,  no  one  knows,  nor  can  tell ! 
Now  here — now  there — then  away  ! 
None  dreameth  where. — Well-a-day ! 

Love  should  be  true  as  the  star 
Seen  in  the  blue  sky  afar  ! 
Now  here — now  there — like  the  lay 
Of  lutes  in  th'  air !— Well-a-day ! 

Should  love  depart,  not  a  tie 
Binds  up  the  heart  'till  we  die  !— 
Now  here — now  there — sad  we  stray 
Life  is  all  care  ! — Well-a-day  ! 
55 


I'M  WITH  YOU  ONCE  AGAIN. 


I'M  with  you  once  again,  my  friends — 

No  more  my  footsteps  roam ; 
Where  it  began  rny  journey  ends, 

Amid  the  scenes  of  home. 
No  other  clime  has  skies  so  blue, 

Or  streams  so  broad  and  clear, 
And  where  are  hearts  so  warm  and  true, 

As  those  that  meet  me  here  ? 

Since  last,  with  spirits  wild  arid  free, 

I  press'd  my  native  strand, 
I've  wander'd  many  miles  at  sea, 

And  many  miles  on  land  : 
I've  seen  all  nations  of  the  earth, 

Of  every  hue  and  tongue, 
Which  taught  me  how  to  prize  the  worth 

Of  that  from  which  I  sprung. 
56 


Ill  other  countries  when  I  heard 

The  music  of  my  own. 
Oh  how  my  echoing  heart  has  stirr'd 

And  bounded  at  the  tone ; 
But  when  a  brother's  hand  I  clasp'd, 

Beneath  a  foreign  sky. 
With  joy  convulsively  I  gasp'd. 

Like  one  about  to  die  ! 

My  native  land  I  turn  to  you, 

With  blessings  and  with  prayer, 
Where  man  is  brave  and  woman  true, 

And  free  as  mountain  air. 
Long  may  our  flag  in  triumph  wave, 

Against  the  world  combined, 
And  friends  a  welcome — foes  a  grave, 

Within  our  borders  find. 


57 


STAR-LIGHT  RECOLLECTIONS. 


'TWAS  night.— In  the  woodland  alone 

We  met  with  no  witnesses  by 
But  such  as  resplendently  shone 

In  the  blue-tinted  vault  of  the  sky : 
Your  head  on  my  bosom  was  laid, 

As  you  said  you  would  ever  be  mine  ; 
And  I  promised  to  love,  dearest  maid, 

And  worship  alone  at  your  shrine. 

Your  love  on  my  heart  gently  fell 

As  the  dew  on  the  flowers  at  eve, 
Whose  bosoms  with  gratitude  swell, 

A  blessing  to  give  and  receive : 
And  I  knew  by  the  glow  on  your  cheek, 

And  the  rapture  you  could  not  control, 
No  power  had  language  to  speak 

The  faith  or  content  of  your  soul. 
58 


I  love  you  as  none  ever  loved  ; 

As  the  steel  to  the  star  I  am  true ; 
And  I,  dearest  maiden,  have  proved 

That  none  ever  loved  me  but  you. 
Till  memory  loses  her  power, 

Or  the  sands  of  existence  have  run, 
I'll  remember  the  star-lighted  hour, 

That  mingled  two  hearts  into  one. 


MY  WOODLAND  BRIDE. 


HERE  upon  the  mountain  side 

Till  now  we  met  together ; 
Here  I  won  my  woodland  bride, 

In  flush  of  summer  weather. 
Green  was  then  the  linden  bough, 

Tli is  dear  retreat  that  shaded  ; 
Autumn  winds  are  round  me  now, 

And  the  leaves  have  faded. 
59 


She  whose  heart  was  all  my  own, 

In  this  summer-bower, 
With  all  pleasant  things  has  flown, 

Sunbeam,  bird  and  flower  ! 
But  her  memory  will  stay 

With  me,  though  we're  parted— 
From  the  scene  I  turn  away, 

Almost  broken-hearted  ! 


THE  DAY  IS  NOW  DAWNING,  LOVE. 

WILLIAM. 

THE  day  is  now  dawning,  love, 

Fled  is  the  night— 
I  go  like  the  morning,  love, 

Cheerful  and  bright. 
Then  adieu,  dearest  Ellen  : 

When  evening  is  near 
I'll  visit  thy  dwelling, 

For  true  love  is  here. 
60 


ELLEN. 

Oh,  come  where  the  fountain,  love, 

Tranquilly  flows ; 
Beneath  the  green  mountain,  love, 

Seek  for  repose  ; — 
Here  the  days  of  our  childhood, 

In  love's  golden  beam, 
'Mong  the  blue-bells  and  wild  wood, 

Pass'd  on  like  a  dream. 

WILLIAM. 

0  linger  awhile,  love. 

ELLEN. 

1  must  away. 

WILLIAM. 

O  grant  me  thy  smile,  love, 
'Tis  hope's  cheering  ray, 
With  evening  expect  me. 

ELLEN. 

To  the  moment  be  true, 

And  may  angels  protect  thee — 

BOTH. 

Sweet  Ellen,  adieu ! 
Dear  William,  adieu ! 
61 


THINK  OF  ME. 


OH,  think  of  me,  my  own  beloved, 

Whatever  cares  beset  thee  : 
And  when  thou  hast  the  falsehood  proved, 

Of  those  with  smiles  who  met  thee : 
While  o'er  the  sea,  think,  love,  of  me, 

Who  never  can  forget  thee ; 
Let  memory  trace,  the  trysting  place, 

Where  I  with  tears  regret  thee. 

Bright  as  yon  star,  within  my  mind, 

A  hand  unseen  hath  set  thee ; 
There  hath  thine  image  been  enshrined, 

Since  first,  dear  love,  I  met  thee. 
So  in  thy  breast,  I  fain  would  rest, 

If,  haply,  fate  would  let  me, 
And  live  or  die,  wert  thou  but  nigh, 

To  love  or  to  regret  me. 
62 


A  SCENE  AT  SEA. 


ABOVE  our  heads  the  moon  and  stars 

Were  smiling  brightly  and  serene, 
Painting  the  waves  with  silver  bars, 

And  lighting  up  that  ocean-scene  : 
And  on  our  right  the  lightnings  threw 

Their  fiery  javelins  far  and  free, 
While,  like  a  bird  with  proud  wings,  flew 

Our  vessel  through  that  foaming  sea  ! 
And  all  above,  below,  around, 
Was  full  of  grandeur  !    Every  sound 

The  winds  and  waters  breathed  were  such 
As  I  had  never  heard  before  ! 

Oh,  who  can  tell  the  heart  how  much 
At  such  an  hour  it  will  adore 

Th<-  Inscrutable  First  Cause  which  we 

Behold  in  every  thing  at  sea  ! 
63 


OH,  WOULD  THAT  SHE  WERE  HERE. 


OH,  would  that  she  were  here, 

These  hills  and  dales  among, 
Where  vocal  groves  are  gayly  mock'd 

By  Echo's  airy  tongue  : 
Where  jocund  Nature  smiles 

In  all  her  boon  attire, 
Amid  deep-tangled  wiles 

Of  hawthorn  and  sweet-briar. 
Oh,  would  that  she  were  here, 

That  fair  and  gentle  thing, 
Whose  voice  is  like  the  melody 

lireathed  by  the  wind-harp's  string. 

Oh,  would  that  she  were  here, 
Where  the  free  waters  leap, 

Shouting  in  their  joyousness 
Adown  the  rocky  steep : 
54 


Where  rosy  zephyr  lingers 
All  the  live-long  day, 

With  health  upon  his  pinions, 
And  gladness  in  his  way. 

Oh,  would  that  she  were  here- 
Sure  Eden's  groves  of  palm 

Were  not  more  redolent  of  bliss 
Than  these  broad  fields  of  balm. 


Oh,  would  that  she  were  here, 

Where  glide  the  pleasant  hours, 
Rife  with  the  song  of  bee  and  bird, 

The  perfume  of  the  flowers : 
Where  beams  of  peace  and  love, 

And  radiant  beauty's  glow, 
Are  pictured  in  the  sky  above, 

And  in  the  lake  below. 
Oh,  would  that  she  were  here — 

The  nymphs  of  this  bright  scene, 
With  song  and  dance  and  revelry, 

Would  hail  the  dear  one  queen. 


THE  CHIEFTAINS  DAUGHTER. 


UPON  the  barren  sand, 

A  single  captive  stood, 
Around  him  came  with  bow  and  brand, 

The  red-men  of  the  wood. 
Like  him  of  old,  his  doom  he  hears, 

Rock-bound  on  ocean's  rim : — 
The  chieftain's  daughter  knelt  in  tears, 

And  breathed  a  prayer  for  him. 


Above  his  head  in  air, 

The  savage  war-club  swung, 
The  frantic  girl,  in  wild  despair, 

Her  arms  about  him  flung. 
Then  shook  the  warriors  of  the  shade, 

Like  leaves  on  aspen  limb, 
Subdued  by  that  heroic  maid 

Who  breathed  a  prayer  for  him. 
66 


"  Unbind  him  !''  gasp'd  the  chief, 

"  It  is  your  king's  decree  I" 
He  kiss'd  away  her  tears  of  grief, 

And  set  the  captive  free. 
?Tis  ever  thus,  when,  in  life's  storm, 

Hope's  star  to  man  grows  dim, 
An  angel  kneels  in  woman's  form, 

And  breathes  a  prayer  for  him. 


THE  EVERGREEN. 


LOVE  cannot  be  the  aloe  tree, 

Whose  bloom  but  once  is  seen  ; 
Go  search  the  grove,  the  tree  of  love 

Is  sure  the  evergreen : 
For  that's  the  same,  in  leaf  or  frame, 

'Neath  cold  or  sunny  skies ; 
You  take  the  ground  its  roots  have  bound, 

Or  it,  transplanted,  dies  ! 
67 


That  love  thus  shoots,  and  firmly  roots 

In  woman's  heart  we  see ; 
Through  smiles  and  tears  in  after  years 

It  grows  a  fadeless  tree. 
The  tree  of  love,  all  trees  above, 

For  ever  may  be  seen, 
In  summer's  bloom  or  winter's  orl 

A  hardy  evergreen. 


WHERE  HUDSON'S  WAVE. 


WHERE  Hudson's  wave  o'er  silv'ry  sands 

Winds  through  the  hills  afar, 
Old  Cronest  like  a  monarch  stands, 

Crown'd  witli  a  single  star  ! 
And  there  amid  the  billowy  swells 

Of  rock-barr'd,  cloud-capt  earth, 
My  fair  and  gentle  Ida  dwells, 

A  nymph  of  mountain  birth. 
68 


The  snow-flake  that  the  cliff  receives, 

The  diamonds  of  the  showers, 
Springes  tender  blossoms,  buds  and  leaves, 

The  sisterhood  of  flowers, 
Morn's  early  beam,  eve's  balmy  breeze 

Her  purity  define; 
But  Ida's  dearer  far  than  these 

To  this  fond  breast  of  mine. 


My  heart  is  on  the  hills.     The  shades 

Of  night  are  on  my  brow : 
Ye  pleasant  haunts  and  silent  glades, 

My  soul  is  with  you  now  ! 
I  bless  the  star-crown'd  highlands  where 

My  Ida's  footsteps  roam — 
Oh  !  for  a  falcon's  wing  to  bear 

Me  onward  to  my  home. 


SHE  LOVED  HIM. 


SHE  loved  him — but  she  heeded  not — 

Her  heart  had  only  room  for  pride  : 
All  other  feelings  were  forgot, 

When  she  became  another's  bride. 
As  from  a  dream  she  then  awoke, 

To  realize  her  lonely  state, 
And  own  it  was  the  vow  she  broke, 

That  made  her  drear  and  desolate. 

She  loved  him — but  the  sland'rer  came, 

With  words  of  hate  that  all  believed  ; 
A  stain  thus  rested  on  his  name, 

But  he  was  wrong'd  and  she  deceived  ! 
Ah  !  rash  the  act  that  gave  her  hand, 

That  drove  her  lover  from  her  side, 
Who  hied  him  to  a  distant  land, 

Where,  battling  for  a  name,  he  died  ! 
70 


She  loved  him — and  his  memory  now 

Was  treasured  from  the  world  apart : 
The  calm  of  thought  was  on  her  brow, 

The  seeds  of  death  were  in  her  heart. 
For  all  the  world  that  thing  forlorn 

I  would  not,  could  not  be,  and  live, 
That  casket  with  its  jewel  gone, 

A  bride  who  has  no  heart  to  give. 


TWENTY  YEARS  AGO. 


'TWAS  in  the  flush  of  summer  time, 

Some  twenty  years  or  more, 
When  Ernest  lost  his  wa,y,  and  crost 

The  threshold  of  our  door. 
Til  ne'er  forget  his  locks  of  jet 

His  brow  of  Alpine  snow, 
His  manly  grace  of  form  and  face, 

Some  twenty  years  ago. 
71 


The  hand  he  asked  I  freely  gave — 

Mine  was  a  happy  lot, 
In  all  my  pride  to  be  his  bride 

Within  my  father's  cot. 
The  faith  he  spoke  he  never  broke  : 

His  faithful  heart  I  know  ; 
And  well  I  vow  I  love  him  now 

As  twenty  years  ago. 


LAND  HO  ! 


FILL  high  the  brimmer  ! — the  land  is  in  sight, 
We'll  be  happy,  if  never  again,  boys,  to-night! 
The  cold  cheerless  occiiii  in  safety  we've  Jkist, 
And  the  warm  irenial  earth  salads  our  vision  at  last: 
In  the  land  of  the  stranger  true  hearts  we  shall  find 
To  soothe  us  in  absence  of  those  left  behind. 
Then  fill  hiirli  the  brimmer! — the  land  is  in  sight, 
We'll  be  happy,  if  never  again,  boys,  to-night. 
7-2 


Fill  high  the  brimmer — till  morn  we'll  remain, 
Then  part  in  the  hope  to  meet  one  day  again 
Round  the  hearth-stone  of  home,  in  the  land  of  our  birth, 
The  holiest  spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ! 
Dear  country!  our  thoughts  are  as  constant  to  thee 
As  the  steel  to  the  star  or  the  stream  to  the  sea ; 
Then  fill  high  the  brimmer  ! — the  land  is  in  sight, 
We'll  be  happy,  if  never  again,  boys,  to-night. 


Fill  high  the  brimmer — the  wine-sparkles  rise 
Like  tears,  from  the  fountain  of  joy,  to  the  eyes  ! 
May  rain-drops  that  fall  from  the  storm-clouds  of  care 
Melt  away  in  the  sun-beaming  smiles  of  the  fair  ! 
Drink  deep  to  the  chime  of  the  nautical  bells, 
To  woman,  God  bless  her  !  wherever  she  dwells  ! 
Then  till  high  the  brimmer! — the  land  is  in  sight, 
We'll  be  happy,  if  never  again,  boys,  to  night. 


THE  COT  NEAR  THE  WOOD. 


HARD  by  I've  a  cottage  that  stands  near  the  wood, 

A  stream  glides  in  peace  at  the  door, 
Where  all  who  will  tarry,  'tis  well  understood, 

Receive  hospitality's  store. 
To  cheer  that  the  brook  and  the  thicket  afford, 

The  stranger  we  ever  invite: 
You're  welcome  to  freely  partake  at  the  board, 

And  afterwards  rest  for  the  night. 

The  birds  in  the  morning  will  sing  from  the  trees 

And  herald  the  young  god  of  day, 
Then  with  him  uprising,  depart  if  you  please, 

We'll  set  you  refresh'd  on  your  way : 
Your  coin  for  our  service  we  sternly  reject ; 

No  traffic  for  gain  we  pursue, 
And  all  the  reward  that  we  wish  or  expect, 

We  take  in  the  good  that  we  do. 
74 


Mankind  are  all  pilgrims  on  life's  weary  road, 

And  many  would  wander  astray 
In  seeking  Eternity's  silent  abode, 

Did  Mercy  not  point  out  the  way! 
If  all  would  their  duty  discharge  as  they  should, 

To  those  who  are  friendless  and  poor, 
The  world  would  resemble  my  cot  near  the  wood, 

And  life  the  sweet  stream  at  my  door. 


OPEN  THY  LATTICE,  LOVE. 

OPEN  thy  lattice,  love- 
Listen  to  me ! 

The  cool  balmy  breeze 
Is  abroad  on  the  sea  ! 

The  moon,  like  a  queen, 
Roams  her  realms  of  blue, 

And  the  stars  keep  their  vigils 
In  heaven  for  you. 

Eto  morn's  gushing  light 
Tips  the  hills  with  its  ray, 

Away,  o'er  the  waters, 
Away  and  away ! 
75 


Then  open  thy  lattice,  love- 
Listen  to  me ! 

While  the  moon  lights  the  sky, 
And  the  breeze  curls  the  sea  ! 


Open  thy  lattice,  love — 

Listen  to  me ! 
In  the  voyage  of  life, 

Love  our  pilot  will  be  ! 
He'll  sit  at  the  helm 

Wherever  we  rove, 
And  steer  by  the  load-star 

He  kindled  above  ! 
His  gem-girdled  shallop 

Will  cut  the  bright  spray, 
Or  skim,  like  a  bird, 

O'er  the  waters  away  ; 
Then  open  thy  lattice,  love — 

Listen  to  me, 
While  the  moon  lights  the  sky, 

And  the  breeze  curls  the  sea  ! 


76 


OUR  PATRIOT  SIRES. 


I  LOVE  the  patriot  sages. 

Who,  in  the  days  of  yore, 
In  combat  met  the  foemen, 

And  drove  them  from  our  shore ; 
Who  flung  our  banners  starry  field, 

In  triumph  to  the  breeze, 
And  spread  broad  maps  of  cities  where 

Once  waved  the  forest  trees. 
-Hurrah  !- 

I  love  the  lofty  spirit 

Impel  I'd  our  sires  to  rise 
To  found  a  mighty  nation 

Beneath  the  western  skies. 
No  clime  so  bright  and  beautiful 

As  that  where  sets  the  sun ; 
No  land  so  fertile,  free  and  fair 

As  that  of  Washington. 
—Hurrah  !- 


LADY  OF  ENGLAND. 


LADY  of  England — o'er  the  seas 
Thy  name  was  borne  on  ev'ry  breeze, 
Till  all  this  sunset  clime  became 
Familiar  with  Victoria's  name  ! 

Though  seas  divide  us  many  a  mile, 
Yet,  for  the  Queen  of  that  fair  isle, 
From  which  our  fathers  sprung,  there  roves 
A  blessing  from  this  Land  of  Groves. 

Our  Father-land  !— fit  theme  for  song ! 
When  thou  art  named  what  memories  throng  ! 
Shall  England  cease  our  love  to  claim  ? 
Not  while  our  language  is  the  same  ! 

Scion  of  kings  !  so  live  and  reign, 
That,  when  thy  nation's  swelling  strain 
Is  breathed  amid  our  forests  green, 
We  too  may  sing  "  God  save  the  Queen  !" 
78 


OH,  THIS  LOVE ! 

AFTER  THE   MANNER  OF  JESS   M*FARLANE. 

OH,  this  love — this  love  ! 

I  aince  the  passion  slighted  ; 
But  hearts  that  truly  love, 

Must  break  or  be  united. 
Oh,  this  love  ! 

When  first  he  cam'  to  woo, 
I  little  cared  aboot  him  ; 

But  soon  I  felt  as  though 
I  cou'd  na'  live  without  him  ! 
Oh,  this  love ! 

He  brought  to  me  the  ring, 
My  hand  ask'd  o'  my  mither — 

I  cou'd  na'  bear  the  thought 
That  he  should  tak'  anither. 
Oh,  this  love ! 

And  now,  I'm  a'  his  ain, 

In  a'  his  joys  I  mingle  ; 
No'  for  the  wealth  of  warlds, 

Would  I  again  be  single  ! 
Oh,  this  love ! 


THE  BEAM  OF  DEVOTION. 


I  NEVER  could  find  a  good  reason, 

Why  sorrow  unbidden  should  stay, 
And  all  the  bright  joys  of  life's  season, 

Be  driven  unheeded  away. 
Our  cares  would  wake  no  more  emotion, 

Were  we  to  our  lot  but  resign'd 
Than  pebbles  flung  into  the  ocean, 

That  leave  scarce  a  ripple  behind. 


The  world  has  a  spirit  of  beauty, 

Which  looks  upon  all  for  the  best, 
And  while  it  discharges  its  duty, 

To  Providence  leaves  all  the  rest ; 
That  spirit's  the  beam  of  devotion, 

It  lights  us  through  life  to  its  close, 
And  sets  like  the  sun  in  the  ocean, 

More  beautiful  far  than  it  rose. 
80 


AU  REVOIR. 


LOVE  left  one  day  his  leafy  bower, 

And  roam'd  in  sportive  vein, 
Where  Vanity  had  built  a  tower, 

For  Fashion's  sparkling  train. 
The  mistress  to  see  he  requested, 

Of  one  who  attended  the  door  : 
"  Not  home,"  said  the  page,  who  suggested 

That  he'd  leave  his  card. — "Au  revoir" 


Love  next  came  to  a  lowly  bower— 

A  maid,  who  knew  no  guile, 
Unlike  the  lady  of  the  tower, 

Received  him  with  a  smile. 
Since  then  the  cot  beams  with  his  brightness, 

Though  often  at  Vanity's  door, 
Ix)ve  calls,  merely  out  of  politeness, 

And  just  leaves  his  card. — "Au  revoir.11 
81  K 


"  LOVE,  HONOUR  AND  OBEY/' 


WHEN  Love  in  myrtle  shades  reposed — 
His  bow  and  darts  behind  him  slung — 

As  dewy  twilight  round  him  closed, 
Lisette  these  numbers  sung : 

"  Oh,  love  !  thy  sylvan  bower 

I'll  fly  while  I've  the  power ; 

Thy  primrose  way  leads  maids  where  they 

Love,  honour  and  obey !" 


"  Escape,"  the  boy-god  said,  "  is  vain  !" 
And  shook  the  diamonds  from  his  wings 

"  I'll  bind  thee  captive  in  my  train, 
Fairest  of  earthly  things  !" 

"  Go,  lovely  archer,  go  ! 

I  freedom's  value  know  : 

Then  hence  away,  to  none  I'll  say 

Love,  honour  and  obey  !" 
82 


<;  Speed,  arrow,  to  thy  mark,"  he  cried — 

Swift  as  a  ray  of  light  it  flew  ! 
Love  spread  his  purple  pinions  wide, 

And  faded  from  her  view  ! 
Joy  fill'd  that  maiden's  eyes — 
Twin  load-stars  from  the  skies  !— 
And  one  bright  day,  her  lips  did  say 
"  Love,  honour  and  obey  !" 


BESSY  BELL. 


WHEN  life  looks  drear  and  lonely,  love, 

And  pleasant  fancies  flee, 
Then  will  the  muses  only,  love, 

Bestow  a  thought  on  me  ! 
Mine  is  a  harp  which  pleasure,  lov«^ 

To  waken  strives  in  vain, 
To  Joy's  entrancing  measure,  love, 

It  ne'er  can  thrill  again  ! 

Why  mock  me,  Bessy  Bell  ? 
83 


Oh  do  not  ask  me  ever,  love, 

For  rapture-woven  rhymes ; 
For  vain' is  each  endeavour,  love, 

To  sound  mirth's  play-bell  chimes  ! 
Yet  still  believe  me,  dearest  love, 

Though  dull  my  song  may  be, 
This  heart  still  doats  sincerest,  lov% 

And  grateful  turns  to  thee  ! 

My  once  true  Bessy  Bell  ! 


Those  eyes  still  rest  upon  me,  love  ! 

I  feel  their  magic  spell  ! 
With  that  same  look  you  won  me,  love, 

Fair,  gentle  Bessy  Bell ! 
My  doom  you've  idly  spoken,  love, 

You  never  can  be  mine  ! 
But  though  my  heart  is  broken,  love, 

Still,  lady,  it  is  thine  ! 

Adieu,  false  Bessy  Bell ! 


THE  EXILE  TO  HIS  SISTER. 


As  streams  at  morn,  from  seas  that  glide, 

Rejoicing  on  their  sparkling  way, 
Will  turn  again  at  eventide, 

To  mingle  with  their  kindred  spray : 
E'en  so  the  currents  of  the  soul, 

Dear  sister,  wheresoe'er  we  rove, 
Will  backward  to  our  country  roll, 

The  boundless  ocean  of  our  love. 


Yon  northern  star,  now  burning  bright, 

The  guide  by  which  the  wave-tost  steer, 
Beams  not  with  more  devoted  light, 

Than  does  thy  love,  my  sister  dear. 
From  stars  above  the  streams  below 

Receive  the  glory  they  impart ; 
So,  sister,  do  thy  virtues  glow 

Within  the  mirror  of  my  heart. 
85 


MY  BARK  IS  OUT  UPON  THE  SEA. 


MY  bark  is  out  upon  the  sea — 

The  moon's  above ; 
Her  light  a  presence  seems  to  me 

Like  woman's  love. 
My  native  land  I've  left  behind— 

Afar  I  roam  ; 
In  other  climes  no  hearts  I'll  find 

Like  those  at  home. 


Of  all  yon  sister-band  of  stars 

But  one  is  true  ; 
She  paves  my  p;itii  with  silver  bars, 

And  beams  like  you, 
Whose  purity  the  waves  recall 

In  music's  flow, 
As  round  my  bark  they  rise  and  fall 

In  liquid  snow. 


The  freshening  breeze  now  swells  our  sails ! 

A  storm  is  on  ! 
The  weary  moon's  dim  lustre  fails — 

The  stars  are  gone. 
Not  so  fades  love's  eternal  light 

When  storm-clouds  sweep : 
I  know  one  heart's  with  me  to  night 

Upon  the  deep. 


SALLY  ST.  GLAIR. 


Ix  the  ranks  of  Marion's  band, 
Through  morass  and  wooded  land, 
Over  beach  of  yellow  sand, 

Mountain,  plain  and  valley  ; 
A  southern  maid,  in  all  her  pride, 
March'd  gayly  at  her  lover's  side, 
In  such  disguise 
That  e'en  his  eyes 
Did  not  discover  Sally. 
87 


When  return'd  from  midnight  tramp, 
Through  the  forest  dark  and  damp, 
On  his  straw-couch  in  the  camp 

In  his  dreams  he'd  dally 
With  that  devoted,  gentle  fair, 
Whose  large  black  eyes  and  flowing  hair, 
So  near  him  seem, 
That  in  his  dream, 
He  breathes  his  love  for  Sally. 


Oh  what  joy  that  maiden  knew, 
When  she  found  her  lover  true  !— 
Suddenly  the  trumpet  blew, 
Marion's  men  to  rally ! 
To  ward  the  death-spear  from  his  side 
In  battle  by  Santee  she  died  ! 
Where  sings  the  surge 
A  ceaseless  dirge 
Near  the  lone  grave  of  Sally. 


K* 


THE  SUITORS. 

WEALTH  sought  the  bower  of  Beauty, 

Dress'd  like  a  modern  beau  ; 
Just  then,  Love,  Health  and  Duty 

Took  up  their  hats  to  go. 
Weal tli  such  a  cordial  welcome  met, 

As  made  the  others  grieve, 
So  Duty  shmm'd  the  gay  coquette, 

Love,  pouting,  took  French  leave- 
He  did- 

Love,  pouting,  took  French  leave. 

Old  Time,  the  friend  of  Duty, 

Next  call'd  to  see  the  fair ; 
He  laid  his  hand  on  Beauty, 

And  left  her  in  despair. 
Wealth  vanish'd  ! — Last  went  rosy  Health— 

And  she  was  doom'd  to  prove, 
That  those  who  Duty  slight  for  Wealth, 

Can  never  hope  for  Love — 
Ah,  no — 

Can  never  hope  for  Love. 

su  L 


Tin;  CARRIER  DOM;. 


WHILE  before  St.  Agnes'  shrine 

Knelt  a  true  knight's  lady-love, 
From  the  wars  of  Palestine 

Came  a  gentle  carrier-dove. 
Round  his  neck  a  silken  string 

Fastened  words  the  warrior  writ ; 
At  her  call  he  stoop'd  his  wing, 

And  upon  her  ringer  lit. 


She,  like  one  enchanted,  pored 

O'er  the  contents  of  the  scroll, 
For  the  lady  loved  her  lord 

With  a  pure  devoted  soul. 
To  her  heart  the  dove  she  drew, 

While  she  traced  the  burning  line, 
Then  away  the  minion  flew 

Back  to  sainted  Palestine. 
DO 


To  and  fro,  from  hand  to  hand 

Came  and  went  the  carrier-dove, 
Till  throughout  the  holy  land 

War  resign'd  his  sword  to  Love. 
Swift  the  dove  on  wings  of  light, 

Brought  the  news  from  Palestine, 
And  the  lady  her  true  knight 

Wedded  at  St.  Agnes'  shrine. 


WESTERN  REFRAIN. 


DROOP  not,  brothers ! 

As  we  go, 

O'er  the  mountains, 
Westward  ho ! 
Under  boughs  of  misletoe, 

Log-huts  we'll  rear, 
While  herds  of  deer  and  buffalo, 

Furnish  the  cheer. 
File  o'er  the  mountains — steady,  boys  ! 

For  game  afar 
We  have  our  rifles  ready,  boys  ! 

Aha! 
Throw  care  to  the  winds, 

Like  chaff,  boys  ! — ha  ! 
And  join  in  the  laugh,  boys— 
Hah — hah — hah. 
92 


Cheer  up,  brothers ! 
As  we  go, 

O'er  the  mountains, 
Westward  ho ! 
When  we've  wood  and  prairie  land, 

Won  by  our  toil, 
We'll  reign  like  kings  in  fairy-land, 

Lords  of  the  soil ! 
Then  westward  ho  !  in  legions,  boys, 

Fair  freedom's  star 
Points  to  her  sunset  regions,  boys ! 

Aha! 
Throw  care  to  the  winds, 

Like  chaff,  boys,  ha ! 
And  join  in  the  laugh,  boys- 
Hall — hah- -hah. 


WILL  NOBODY  MARRY  ME? 


HEIGH-HO  !  for  a  husband  ! — Heigh-ho  ! 

There's  danger  in  longer  delay  ? 
Shall  I  never  again  have  a  beau  ? 

Will  nobody  marry  me,  pray  ? 
I  begin  to  feel  strange,  I  declare ! 

With  beauty  my  prospects  will  fade — 
I'd  give  myself  up  in  despair 

If  I  thought  I  should  die  an  old  maid. 


I  once  cut  the  beaux  in  a  huff — 

I  thought  it  a  sin  and  a  shame 
That  no  one  had  spirit  enough 

To  ask  me  to  alter  my  name. 
So  I  turn'd  up  my  nose  at  the  short, 

And  cast  down  my  eyes  at  the  tall ; 
But  then  I  just  did  it  in  sport, 

And  now  I've  no  lover  at  all. 
M 


These  men  are  the  plagues  of  my  life ; 

'Tis  hard  from  so  many  to  choose  ! 
Should  any  one  wish  for  a  wife, 

Could  I  have  the  heart  to  refuse  ? 
I  dont  know — for  none  have  proposed— 

Oh  dear  me  ! — I'm  frighten'd  I  vow  ! 
Good  gracious  !  who  ever  supposed 

That  I  should  be  single  till  now  ? 


THE  BALL-ROOM  BELLE. 


THE  moon  and  all  her  starry  train, 

Were  fading  from  the  morning  sky, 
When  home  the  ball-room  belle  again 
lleturn'd  with  throbbing  pulse  and  brain, 
Flush'd  cheek,  and  tearful  eye. 


The  plumes  that  danced  above  her  brow, 

The  gems  that  sparkled  in  her  zone, 
The  scarf  of  gold-wove  myrtle  bough, 
Were  laid  aside— they  mock'd  her  now, 
When  desolate  and  lone. 
96 


That  night  how  many  hearts  she  won  ! 

The  reigning  belle,  she  could  not  stir 
But  like  the  planets  round  the  sun 
Her  suitors  follow'd — all  but  one  ! 

One  all  the  world  to  her. 


And  she  had  lost  him  ! — marvel  not 
That  lady's  eyes  with  tears  were  wet ; 

Though  love  by  man  is  soon  forgot, 

It  never  yet  was  woman's  lot 
To  love  and  to  forget. 


97 


THE  MINIATURE. 


WILLIAM  was  holding  in  his  hand 

The  likeness  of  his  wife- 
Fresh,  as  if  touch'd  by  fairy  wand, 

With  beauty,  grace  and  life. 
He  almost  thought  it  spoke  —  he  gazed 

Upon  the  treasure  still ; 
Absorbed,  delighted  and  amazed, 

He  view'd  the  artist's  skill. 


"  This  picture  is  yourself,  dear  Jane, 

'Tis  drawn  to  nature  tme  : 
I've  kiss'd  it  o'er  and  o'er  again, 

It  is  so  much  like  you." 
"  And  has  it  kiss'd  you  back,  my  dear  !" 

"  Why  —  no  —  my  love,"  said  he. 
"  Then,  William,  it  is  very  clear, 

'Tis  not  at  all  like  me  /" 
96 


TIM1.   KKTnKT. 


OLD  Birch,  who  taught  the  village  school, 

Wedded  a  maid  of  homespun  habit ; 
He  was  stubborn  as  a  mule, 

And  she  was  playful  as  a  rabbit. 
Poor  Jane  had  scarce  become  a  wife, 

Before  her  husband  sought  to  make  her 
The  pink  of  country-polish'd  life, 

And  prim  and  formal  as  a  quaker. 


One  day  the  tutor  went  abroad, 

And  simple  Jenny  sadly  miss'd  him ; 
When  he  retum'd,  behind  her  lord 

She  slyly  stole  and  fondly  kiss'd  him  ! 
The  husband's  anger  rose  ! — and  red 

And  white  his  face  alternate  grew  ! 
"Less  freedom,  ma'am  P  Jane  sigh'd  and  said, 

"  Oh,  dear  !  1  dicTnt  know  'twas  you  /" 


IJXES  TO  A  POET 


of  thy  lyre! 


. 


7 


A  >rig*  !•.•-.  >rfn   0~ - 
All  tongoa  pranoonee  Ay  fow 

\ 

And  will  in  after  days: 

_  "      • 

,,.....  .    . 


A  nameless  grace  is  roond  thee— 
A  aooMthine.  too  refined 

To  be  described,  yet  most  be  fch 
ByaUonmmankmd: 

1       in  ••  Hi  Hi  irf  A * 

ThfltOBHirtbe 


Then  blessings  on  thee,  minstrel — 
Thy  temlts  let  othets  scan: 

There  may  be  spots  upon  the  son, 
Which  those  mmy  riew  that  can : 

I  see  them  Dot — yet  know  thee  wei 

A  POST   AND  A  MAS. 


THE  COLONEL. 


THE  colonel !  —  such  a  creature  ! 

I  met  him  at  the  ball ! 
Perfect  in  form  and  feature, 

And  so  divinely  tall  ! 
He  praised  my  dimpled  cheeks  and  curls, 

While  whirling  through  the  dance, 
And  match'd  me  with  the  dark-eyed  girls 

Of  Italy  and  France  ! 


He  said,  in  accents  thrilling, 

"  Love's  boundless  as  the  sea  ! 
And  I,  dear  maid,  am  willing 

To  give  up  all  for  thee !" 
I  heard  him — blush'd — "would ask  mamma"- 

And  then  my  eyes  grew  dim  : 
He  look'd  —  I  said,  "  mamma  —  papa  — 

I'd  give  up  all  for  him  !*' 
MM 


My  governor  is  rich  and  old : 

This  well  the  colonel  knew. 
"Love's  wings,"  lie  said,  "when  fringed  with  gold, 

Are  beautiful  to  view  !" 
I  thought  his  'haviour  quite  the  ton 

Until  I  saw  him  stare, 
When  merely  told-that-brother-John- 

Papa-would-make-his-heir ! 


Next  day  and  the  day  after 

I  dressed  for  him  in  vain  — 
Was  moved  to  tears  and  laughter  — 

He  never  came  again  ! 
But  I  have  heard  for  widow  Dash 

He  bought  the  bridal  ring- 
And  he  will  wed  her  for  her  cash  — 

The  ugly,  hateful  thing  ! 


I  LOVE  THE  NIGHT. 


I  LOVE  the  night  when  the  moon  streams  bright 

On  flowers  that  drink  the  dew, 
When  cascades  shout  as  the  stars  peep  out, 

From  boundless  fields  of  blue ; 
But  dearer  far  than  moon  or  star, 

Or  flowers  of  gaudy  hue, 
Or  murmuring  trills  of  mountain  rills, 

I  love,  I  love,  love  — you  ! 


I  love  to  stray  at  the  close  of  day, 

Through  groves  of  linden  trees, 
When  gushing  notes  from  song-birds'  throats 

Are  vocal  in  the  breeze. 
I  love  the  night  —  the  glorious  night ! 

When  hearts  beat  warm  and  true  ; 
But  far  above  the  night,  I  love, 

I  love,  I  love,  love  —  you  ! 
104 


THE  MAY  QUEEN. 


LIKE  flights  of  singing-birds  went  by 
The  cheerful  hours  of  girlhood's  day, 

When,  in  my  native  bowers, 

Of  simple  buds  and  flowers 
They  wove  a  crown  and  haiFd  me  Queen  of  May. 


Like  airy  sprites  the  lasses  came, 
Spring's  offerings  at  my  feet  to  lay ; 
The  crystal  from  the  fountain, 
The  green-boughs  from  the  mountain 

They  brought  to  cheer  and  shade  the  Queen  of  May. 


Around  the  May-pole  on  the  green, 
A  fairy  ring  they  tripp'd  away  ; 
All  merriment  and  pleasure, 

To  chords  of  tuneful  measure, 
They  bounded  by  the  happy  Q,ueen  of  May. 


Though  years  have  pass'd  and  time  has  strewn 
My  raven  locks  with  flakes  of  gray, 

Fond  memory  brings  the  hours 

Of  buds  and  blossom-showers 
When  in  girlhood  I  was  crown'd  the  dueen  of  May. 


106 


VENETIAN  SERENADE. 


COME,  come  to  me,  love ! 

Come  love !  —  Arise ! 
And  shame  the  bright  stars 

With  the  light  of  thine  eyes ; 
Look  out  from  thy  lattice, 

Oh  lady,  appear ! 
A  swan  on  the  water, 

My  gondola's  near ! 


Come,  come  to  me,  love  ! 

Come,  love  !  —  My  bride  ! 
O'er  crystal  in  moonbeams 

We'll  tranquilly  glide : 
In  the  dip  of  the  oar 

A  melody  flows 
Sweet  as  the  nightingale 

Sings  to  the  rose. 
107 


Come,  come  to  me,  love  ! 

Come,  love  !  —  The  day 
Brings  warder  and  cloister  ! 

Away  then,  away ! 
O  haste  to  thy  lover  ; 

Not  yon  star  above 
Is  more  true  to  heaven, 

Than  he  to  his  love  ! 


r  ii  K 


>y  u  j  p-p£)^)Ji-w  J  LL  . 


LY   179C1UBKD    TO  MORTON   MS   MICHAEL, EC 


inn  «•!  ill-  UMilmy.  whip  p 
\\1io  nuMHH  IIIUUMMI.  ••«»««  ««-a «<•••»  «'"J 

.nl  wo 
Till  n  '«*v  wins*- 


"Why  romr  from  yon  leaf  shadtHl  li 
A  sii|)|)|i;mi  at  niy  door?  — 

Why  :isk  ol  NIC  in  whip  |>oor  Will  ? 
Ami  is  Will  iv.illy 


It  poverty's  his  crime,  let  mirth 
I'Yom  (Mil  his  lieail  l>e  driven  : 
'I'h.ii  is  the  deadliest  sin  on  earth, 

And  nruM-  is  luiviven  ! 


"  An  Will  himself!  —  It  must  be  so 

I  U'.im  it  from  thy  moan, 
For  none  ran  feel  another's  woe 

As  deeply   .ts  Ins  own. 


"  Yfi  \slHTrloiv  strain  thy  tiny  throat, 
While  other  birds  tvpose  ? 

\\li.il  HUMUS  ihy  inolaiii  lml\   note*? 
Tin1  in\  slrr\  disclose. 


"Still  '  \vhip-ponr-will  !'—Art  thou  a  sprite, 

From  unknown  n -mi  is 
To  wander  in  (In-  irlouin  ,,r 
Ami  ask  tin  punishment  : 


"  Ls  thine  a  ronsc -iciicr  sore  beset 
Witli  truilt  — or,  what  Ls  worse, 

Hast  them  to  meet  writs,  duns  mid  drht. 
No  money  in  thy  purse? 


"  It' this  be  thy  hard  late  indeed, 
Ah  well  may's!  tliou  repine : 

The  sympathy  I  ijive  I  nopcl  - 
Tin*  port's  diMiiii  is  tliiiu*. 


"Art  ihon  a  lovrr,  Will  ?  -Hast  proved 

The  fairest  ran  deeeive  ? 
Thine  is  the  lot  of  all  who've  lovod 

Sincr   AilMll!   \\rd«lnl    Kvc. 


"  Hast  trusted  in  a  friend,  and  seen 
No  friend  was  he  in  need  ? 

A  common  error  —  men  still  lean 
Upon  as  frail  a  reed. 


14  Hast  tiuNi  in  seeking-  wealth  or  tame, 
A  crown  of  hramMes  won  ? 

O'er  all  the  earth  'tis  just  the  same 
With  CVCTV  mother's  son  ! 


u  Hast  Ibund  the  world  a  Babel  wide, 
Where  mail  to  Mammon  stoops  ? 

When-  llnnrish  arrogance  and  pride, 
While  mixfcst  merit  droops  ? 


"  What,  none  of  these  ?— Then,  whence  thy  jwin, 

To  qiiess  it  who's  the  skill  ? 
Tniy  lu\ve  the  kindness  to  explain 

Why  I  should  whip  IXXH-  Will  .' 


"  Dost  merely  ask  thy  just  desert  ? 

What  not  another  won!?  — 
Hack  to  the  wtxxLs  ag-ain,  unhurt  — 

I  \vill  not  harm  the*-,  birtl! 


"  Hut  treat  theo  kindly —  for  my  nerves, 

Like  tliinc.  II.-IVP  |>niaiitv  dow>; 
'  Tivat  even-  man  as  lu«  ch'sprves 

shall  'srapr  wliip|iin^  ?'_  None. 


"Farewell  poor  Will  _  not  valueless 
This  lesson  by  tliee  given  : 

1  Keep  thine  own  counsel,  and 
Thyself  alone  to  heaven!"' 


SONGS  AND  DUETS 


FROM    TIIK    OPKRA    <»F 


THE  MAID  OF  SAXONY. 

THE    MUSIC    BY    C.    E.    HORN. 

THE  GENTLE  BIRD. 

THE  gentle  bird  on  yonder  spray, 
That  sings  its  little  life  away, 
The  rose-bud  bursting  into  flower, 
And  glitt'ring  in  the  sun  and  shower, 
The  cherry-blossom  on  the  tree, 
Are  emblematic  all  of  thee. 

Yon  moon  that  sways  the  vassal  streams 
Like  thee  in  modest  beauty  beams ; 
So  shines  the  diamond  of  the  mine, 
And  the  rock-crystal  of  the  brine : 
The  gems  of  heaven,  earth  and  sea, 
Are  blended  all,  dear  maid,  in  thee  ! 

*  145  T 


WHEN  I  BEHOLD. 


WHEN  I  behold  that  lowering  brow 

Which  indicates  the  mind  within, 
I  marvel  much  that  woman's  vow 

A  man  like  that  could  ever  win. 
Yet,  it  is  said,  in  mstic  bower, 

(The  fable  I  have  often  heard,) 
A  serpent  has  mysterious  power 

To  captivate  a  timid  bird. 


This  moral  then  I  sadly  trace, 

That  love's  a  fluttering  thing  of  air  : 
And  yonder  stands  the  viper  base, 

Who  would  my  gentle  bird  ensnare. 
'Twas  in  the  shades  of  Eden's  bower, 

This  fascination  had  its  birth, 
And  even  there  possessed  the  power 

To  lure  the  paragon  of  earth. 
146 


ALL  SHOULD  WED  FOR  LOVE. 


FROM  my  fate  there's  no  retreating, 

Love  commands  and  I  obey : 
How  with  joy  my  heart  is  beating 

At  the  fortunes  of  to-day. 
Life  is  fill'd  with  strange  romances  — 

Love  is  blind  the  poets  say  : 
When  he  comes  unsought,  the  chance  is 

Of  his  own  accord  he'll  stay. 

Love  can  ne'er  be  forced  to  tarry ; 

Chain  him,  he'll  the  bonds  remove ; 
Pair'd,  not  match'd,  too  many  marry  — 

All  should  wed  alone  lor  love. 
Let  him  on  the  bridal  even, 

Trim  his  lamp  with  constant  ray, 
And  the  flame  will  light  to  heaven, 

When  the  world  shall  fade  away. 
147 


'TIS  A  SOLDIER'S  RIGID  DUTY. 


'Tis  a  soldier's  rigid  duty 

Orders  strictly  to  obey  ; 
Let  not  then  the  smile  of  beauty 

Lure  us  from  the  camp  away. 
In  our  country's  cause  united, 

Gallantly  we'll  take  the  field  ; 
But  the  victory  won,  delighted 

Singly  to  the  fair  we  yield. 


Soldiers  who  have  ne'er  retreated, 

Beauty's  tearfwilTsure  beguile  ; 
Hearts  that  armies  ne'er  defeated, 

Love  can  conquer  with  a  smile. 
Who  would  strive  to  live  in  story, 

Did  not  woman's  hand  prepare 
Amaranthine  wreaths  of  glory, 

Which  the  valiant  proudly  wear. 
148 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  HEART. 

SKY,  stream,  moorland  and  mountain, 

Tree,  cot,  spire  and  dome, 
Breeze,  bird,  vineyard  and  fountain, 

Kindred,  friends,  country  and  home. 
Home,  home,  home,  home, 

These  are  the  blessings  of  home. 

Hope  how  fondly  I  cherish, 

Dear  land,  to  see  thee  once  more  ; 

Oil,  fate  !  let  me  not  perish, 
Far  from  my  own  native  shore. 
Home,  home,  home,  home, 
Saxony,  liberty's  home. 

Those  who  freedom  inherit 
Bow  not  to  tyranny's  throne, 

Then,  friends,  in  a  kind  spirit, 
Judge  of  my  love  by  your  own. 
Home,  home,  home,  home, 
The  land  of  the  heart  is  our  home. 


LOVE  IS  NOT  A  GARDEN  FLOWER/ 


AH  !  love  is  not  a  garden  flower, 

That  shoots  from  out  the  cultured  earth  ! 
That  needs  the  sunbeam  and  the  shower 

Before  it  wakens  into  birth  : 
It  owns  a  richer  soil  and  seed, 

And  woman's  heart  contains  them  both  — 
Where  it  will  spring,  without  a  weed, 

Consummate  in  its  growth. 


These  leaves  will  perish  when  away 

From  either  genial  sun  or  shower ; 
Not  so  will  wither  and  decay 

Celestial  Love's  perennial  flower. 
'Tis  our  companion  countless  miles, 

Through  weal  or  wo,  in  after  years  ; 
And  though  it  flourishes  in  smiles, 

It  blooms  as  fresh  in  tears. 
150 


THi;  KING,  THE  PRINCES. 


THE  king,  the  princes  of  the  court. 

With  lords  and  ladies  bright, 
Will  in  their  dazzling  state  resort, 

To  this  grand  fete  to-night. 
The  merry  hearted  and  the  proud, 
Will  mingle  in  the  glittering  crowd. 
Who  glide  with  fash  inn's  sparkling  stream, 
Where  one  I  love  will  shine  supreme. 


The  cavaliers  of  Italy, 

The  gay  gallants  of  France, 
With  Spain  and  Enji.ind  s  chivalry 

Will  join  the  mazy  dance. 
The  court  of  Love,  the  camp  of  Mars, 
Fair  Prussian  dames,  '  earth-treading  stars,' 
To  music's  strain  will  float  in  liirht. 
Where  one  I  love  will  beam  to-night. 
151 


THE  MIDNIGHT  BELL. 

HARK  !  'tis  the  deep-toned  midnight  bell, 
That  bids  a  sad  and  long  farewell 

To  the  departed  hour : 
How  like  a  dirge  its  music  falls, 
Within  these  cold  and  dreary  walls 

Where  stern  misfortunes  lower. 

Ah  !  vainly  through  these  prison-bars 
Glide  the  pale  beams  of  moon  and  stars, 

To  cheer  this  lonely  tower : 
From  evening's  close  to  dawn  of  day 
Hope's  star  sheds  not  a  single  ray 

To  light  the  solemn  hour. 

Alas  !  what  pangs  must  guilt  conceal, 
When  innocence  like  mine  can  feel 

So  crush'd  in  such  an  hour  ! 
I  know  not  whether  love  be  crime, 
Hut  if  it  is,  in  every  clime, 

'Tis  woman's  fatal  dower  ! 
152 


SWAY'D  BY  SMILES  FROM  THEE. 


OXCE  mild  and  gentle  was  my  heart ! 

My  youth  from  grille  was  free. 

Ere  falsehood's  tongue  and  slander's  dart 
Had  stain'd  and  wounded  me  ! 

And  then  no  threats  could  daunt  my  soul ; 

My  haughty  spirit  spurn'd  control 
Till  sway'd  by  smiles  from  thee. 


A  wanderer  o'er  the  desert  sand, 

An  outcast  on  the  sea, 
An  exile  from  my  native  land, 

What  joy  had  life  for  me  ? 
Each  friend  misfortune  proved  a  foe ; 
I  sconrd  the  high,  despised  the  low, 

Till  sway'd  hy  smiles  from  thee. 
153 


THE  PERFECTION  OF  REASON. 


THAT  law's  the  perfection  of  reason 

No  one  in  his  senses  denies, 
Yet  here  is  a  trial  for  treason 

Will  puzzle  the  wigs  of  the  wise. 
The  lawyers  retained  in  the  action 

On  no  single  point  will  agree, 
Though  proved  to  their  own  satisfaction 

That  tweedle-dum's  not  tweedle-dee  ! 


To  settle  disputes — in  a  fury 

The  sword  from  the  scabbard  we  draw  ; 
But  reason  appeals  to  a  jury 

And  settles — according  to  law. 
Then  hey  for  the  woolsack — for  never 

Without  it  can  nations  be  free  ; 
But  trial  by  jury  for  ever ! 

And  for  tyranny — fiddle-de-dee  ! 
154 


THE  CROTON  ODE. 

•UNO   NEAR  THE 

Park  -fountain, 

BT   THE 

MEMBERS  OF  THE  NEW-YORK  SACRED  MUSIC  SOCIETY, 
O*  TBE 

COMPLETION  OF  THE  CROTON  AQUEDUCT, 

Celebrated  October  14,  1842. 

H  rttten  at  the  request  of  the  Corporation  of  Uu  City  of  .V«w   York. 


THE  CROTOX  ODE. 


GUSHING  from  this  living  fountain, 

Music  pours  a  falling  strain, 
As  the  Goddess  of  the  Mountain 

Comes  with  all  her  sparkling  train. 
From  her  grotto-springs  advancing 

Glittering  in  her  feathery  spray, 
Woodland  fays  beside  her  dancing. 

She  pursues  her  winding  way. 


Gently  o'er  the  rippling  water, 

In  her  coral-shallop  bright, 
Glides  the  rock-king's  dove-eyed  daughter, 

Deck'd  in  robes  of  virgin  white. 
Nymphs  and  naiads,  sweetly  smiling, 

Urge  her  bark  with  pearly  hand, 
Merrily  the  sylph  beguiling 

From  the  nooks  of  fairy-land. 
lf>6 


Swimming  on  the  snow-curl'd  billow, 

See  die  river-spirits  lair, 
Lay  their  cheeks,  as  on  a  pillow, 

With  the  foam-beads  in  their  hair. 
Thus  attended,  hither  wending, 

Floats  the  lovely  oread  now, 
Eden's  arch  of  promise  bending 

Over  her  translucent  brow. 


Hail  the  wanderer  from  a  far-land  ! 

Bind  her  flowing  tresses  up  ! 
Crown  her  with  a  fadeless  garland, 

And  with  crystal  brim  the  cup. 
From  her  haunts  of  deep  seclusion, 

Let  Intemperance  greet  her  too, 
And  the  heat  of  his  delusion 

Sprinkle  with  this  mountain  dew. 


Water  leaps  as  if  delighted, 

While  her  conquered  foes  retire  ! 

Pale  Contain, m  ilios  affrighted 
With  the  baffled  demon  Fire  ! 
157 


Safety  dwells  in  her  dominions, 
Health  and  Beauty  with  her  move, 

And  entwine  their  circling  pinions 
In  a  sisterhood  of  love. 


Water  shouts  a  glad  hosanna  ! 

Bubbles  up  the  earth  to  bless  ! 
Cheers  it  like  the  precious  manna 

In  the  barren  wilderness. 
Here  we  wondering  gaze,  assembled 

Like  the  grateful  Hebrew  band, 
When  the  hidden  fountain  trembled, 

And  obey'd  the  Prophet's  wand. 


Round  the  Aqueduct's  of  story, 

As  the  mists  of  Lethe  throng, 
Croton's  waves,  in  all  their  glory, 

Troop  in  melody  along. — 
Ever  sparkling,  bright  and  single, 

Will  this  rock-ribb'd  stream  appear, 
When  Posterity  shall  mingle 

Like  the  gathered  waters  here. 
158 


ADDRESS 


BENEFIT  OF  WILLIAM  DUNLAP. 


SPOKEN    BY    MRS.    SHARPE. 


WHAT  gay  assemblage  greets  my  wondering  sight ! 
What  scene  of  splendor — conjured  here  to-night ! 
What  voices  murmur,  and  what  glances  gleam  ! 
Sure  'tis  some  flattering,  unsubstantial  dream. 
The  house  is  crowded — everybody's  here, 
For  beauty  famous,  or  to  science  dear ; 
Doctors  and  lawyers,  judges,  belles  and  beaux, 
Poets  and  painters— and  heaven  only  knows 
Whom  else  beside — and,  see,  gay  ladies  sit, 
Lighting  with  smiles  that  fearful  place,  the  pit— 
(A  fairy  change — ah,  pray  continue  it.) 
159 


Gray  heads  are  here  too,  listening  to  my  rhymes, 
Full  of  the  spirit  of  departed  times ; 
Grave  men  and  studious,  strangers  to  my  sisrht, 
Ail  gather  round  me  on  this  brilliant  night. 
And  welcome  are  ye  all.    Not  now  ye  come 
To  speak  some  trembling  poet's  awful  doom  ; 
With  frowning  eyes  a  "want  of  mind"  to  trace 
In  some  new  actor's  inexperienced  face, 
Or  e'en  us  old  ones  (oh,  for  shame  ! )  to  rate 
"  With  study — good— rin  time — but — never  great :" 
Not  like  yon  travel'd  native,  just  to  say 
"  Folks  in  this  country  cannot  act  a  play, 
They  can't  'pon  honour !"     How  the  creature  starts  ! 
His  wit  and  whiskers  came  from  foreign  parts  ! 
Nay,  madam,  spare  your  blushes — you  I  mean- 
There— close  beside  him— oh,  you're  full  nineteen— 
You  need  not  shake  your  flowing  locks  at  me — 
The  man's  your  sweetheart  ? — then  I'm  dumb,  you  see  : 
I'll  let  him  off— you'll  punish  him  in  time, 
Or  I've  no  skill  in  the  prophecy  of  rhyme ! 
A  nobler  motive  fills  your  bosoms  now. 
To  wreathe  the  laurel  round  the  silvcrd  brow 
Of  one  who  merits  it — if  any  can— 
The  artist,  author,  and  the  honest  man. 

160 


With  equal  charms  his  pen  and  pencil  drew 
Rich  scenes,  to  nature  and  to  virtue  true. 
Full  oft  upon  these  boards  hath  youth  appear'd, 
And  oft  your  smiles  his  faltering  footsteps  cheer'd  ; 
But  not  alone  on  budding  genius  smile, 
Leaving  the  ripen'd  sheaf  unown'd  the  while ; 
To  boyish  hope  not  every  bounty  give, 
And  only  youth  and  beauty  bid  to  live. 
Will  you  forget  the  services  long  past  — 
Turn  the  old  war-horse  out  to  die  at  last, 
When,  his  proud  strength  and  noble  fleetness  o'er, 
His  faithful  bosom  dares  the  charge  no  more  ? 
Ah,  no  —  the  sun  that  loves  his  beams  to  shed 
Round  every  opening  floweret's  tender  head, 
With  smiles  as  kind  his  genial  radiance  throws 
To  cheer  the  sadness  of  the  fading  rose  : 
Thus  he,  whose  merit  claims  this  dazzling  crowd, 
Points  to  the  past,  and  has  his  claims  allowed  ; 
Looks  brightly  forth,  his  faithful  journey  done, 
And  rests  in  triumph  —  like  the  setting  sun. 


161 


ADDRESS 


BENEFIT  OF  JAMES  SHERIDAN  KNOWLES, 


SPOKEN   BY   MRS.  CHAPMAN. 

NAY  !  —  Mr.  Simpson  !  —  'Tis  not  kind  —  polite 
To  shut  me  out,  sir  !  —  I'm  in  such  a  fright  !— 
I  cannot  speak  the  lines,  I'm  sure  !  —  Oh,  fy  ! 
To  say  I  must — well,  if  I  must  —  I'll  try  ! 

From  him  I  turn  to  these  more  generous  souls, 
The  drama's  patrons  and  the  friends  of  Knowles. 
Why  what  a  brilliant  galaxy  is  here  ! 
What  stars  adorn  this  mimic  hemisphere  ! 
Names  that  shine  brightest  on  our  country's  page ! 
The  props  of  science  —  literature  —  the  stage ! 
Above  —  below  —  around  me  —  woman  smiles, 
The  fairest  floweret  of  these  western  wilds  — 
All  come  to  pay  the  tribute  of  their  praise 
To  the  first  dramatist  of  modern  days ; 
And  welcome,  to  the  green  home  of  the  free, 
With  heart  and  hand,  the  bard  of  liberty  ! 

162 


His  is  a  wizard  wand.     Its  potent  spell 
Broke  the  deep  slumber  of  the  patriot  Tell ! 
And  placed  him  on  his  native  hills  again, 
The  pride  and  glory  of  his  fellow  men  ! 
The  poet  speaks  —  for  Rome  Virginia  bleeds ! 
Bold  Cains  Gracchus  in  the  forum  pleads  ! 
Alfred  —  the  Great,  because  the  good  and  wise  — 
Bids  prostrate  Enirland  burst  her  bonds  and  rise  ! 
Sweet  Bess,  the  Beggar's  Daughter,  beauty's  queen, 
Walks  forth  the  joy  and  wonder  of  the  scene  ! 
The  Hunchback  enters  —  kindly —  fond  —  severe  — 
And  last,  behold  the  glorious  Wife  appear ! 

These  are  the  bright  creations  of  a  mind 
Glowing  with  genius,  chastened  and  refined. 
In  all  he's  written,  be  this  praise  his  lot, 
"  Not  one  word,  dying,  would  lie  wish  to  blot !" 

Upon  my  life  'tis  no  such  easy  thing 
To  laud  the  bard,  unless  an  eagle's  wing 
My  muse  would  take  ;  and,  fixing  on  the  sun 
Her  burning  eye,  soar  as  his  own  has  done ! 

Did  you  speak,  sir  ?  —  What,  madam,  did  he  say  ? 
Wrangling !  —  for  shame  !  —  before  your 
Nay,  gentle  lady,  by  thine  eyes  of  blue, 
And  vermeil  blushes,  I  did  not  mean  you  ! 


Bless  me,  what  friends  at  every  glance  I  see  ! 
Artists  and  authors  —  men  of  high  degree ; 
Grave  politicians,  who  have  weighed  each  chance  — 
The  next  election,  and  the  war  with  France ; 
Doctors,  just  come  from  —  curing  half  a  score, 
And  belles  from  —  killing  twice  as  many  more ; 
Judges,  recorders,  aldermen  and  mayors, 
Seated,  like  true  republicans,  down  stairs  ! 
All  wear  a  glow  of  sunshine  in  their  faces 
Might  well  become  Apollo  and  the  graces, 
Except  one  yonder,  with  a  look  infernal, 
Like  a  blurr'd  page  from  Fanny  Kemble's  Journal  ! 

But  to  my  task.     The  muse,  when  I  began, 
Spoke  of  the  writer  —  welcome  ye  the  man. 
Genius,  at  best,  acts  but  an  humble  part, 
Unless  obedient  to  an  honest  heart. 
And  such  a  one  is  his,  for  whom  to-night, 
These  walls  are  crowded  with  this  cheering  sight. 
Ye  love  the  poet  —  oft  have  conn'd  him  o'er  — 
Knew  ye  the  man,  ye'd  love  him  ten  times  more. 
Ye  critics  spare  him  from  your  tongue  and  quill, 
Ye  gods  applaud  him,  and  ye  fops  —  be  still ! 


164 


ADDRESS 


BENEFIT  OF  HENRY  PLACIDE. 


SPOKEN    BY   MRS.  HILSON. 


THE  music's  done.     Be  quiet,  Mr.  Durie  ! 
Your  bell  and  whistle  put  me  in  a  fury  ! 
Don't  ring  up  yet,  sir  —  I've  a  word  to  say 
Before  the  curtain  rises  for  the  play ! 

Your  pardon,  gentlefolks,  nor  think  me  bold, 
Because  I  thus  our  worthy  prompter  scold : 
'Twas  all  feign'd  anger.     This  fiili^htcnrd  air«' 
Requires  a  ruse  to  bring  one  on  the  stage ! 

Well,  here  I  am,  quite  dazzled  with  the  sight 
Presented  on  this  brilliant  festal  night ! 
Where'er  I  turn,  whole  rows  of  patrons  sit  — 
The  house  is  full  —  box,  gallery  and  pit ! 
Who  says  the  New- York  public  are  unkind  ? 
I  know  them  well,  and  plainly  speak  my  mind- 


"  It  is  our  right,"  the  ancient  poet  sung  — 

He  knew  the  value  of  a  woman's  tongue ! 

With  this  T  will  defend  ye  —  and  rehearse 

Five  glorious  acts  of  yours  —  in  flowing  verse ; 

Each  one  concluding  with  a  generous  deed 

For  Dunlap,  Cooper,  Woodworth,  Knowles,  Placidc ! 

'Twas  nobly  done,  ye  patriots  and  scholars  ! 

Besides  —  they  netted  twenty  thousand  dollars  ! 

"  A  good  round  sum,"  in  these  degenerate  times  — 

"  This  bank-note  world,"  so  called  in  Halleck's  rhymes  ; 

And  proof  conclusive,  you  will  frankly  own, 

In  liberal  actions  New- York  stands  alone. 

Though  roams  he  oft  'mong  green  poetic  bowers, 
The  actor's  path  is  seldom  strewn  with  flowers. 
His  is  a  silent,  secret,  patient  toil ; 
While  others  sleep,  he  burns  the  midnight  oil  :— 
Pores  o'er  his  books  —  thence  inspiration  draws  — 
And  wastes  his  life  to  merit  your  applause  ! 
Oh  ye,  who  come  the  laggard  hours  to  while, 
And  with  the  laugh-provoking  muse  to  smile, 
Remember  this  !  the  mirth  that  cheers  you  so, 
Shows  but  the  surface  —  not  the  depths  below  ! 
Then  judge  not  lightly  of  the  actor's  art, 
Who  smiles  to  please  you,  with  a  breaking  heart ! 

166 


Neglect  him  not  in  his  hill-climbing  course, 

Nor  treat  him  with  less  kindness  than  your  horse : 

Up  hill  indulge  him  —  down  the  steep  descent 

Spare  —  and  doivt  urge  him  when  his  strength  is  spent ; 

Impel  him  briskly  o'er  the  level  earth, 

But  in  the  stable  don't  forget  his  worth  ! 

So  with  the  actor  —  while  you  work  him  hard, 

Be  mindful  of  his  claims  to  your  regard. 

But  hold  !  —  methinks  some  carping  cynic  li< -n- 
Will  greet  my  homely  image  with  a  sneer. 
Well — let  us  see — I  would  the  monster  view  ;  — 
Man,  with  umbrageous  whiskers,  is  it  you? 
Ah  no — I  was  mistaken :  every  brow 
Beams  with  benevolence  and  kindness  now  ; 
Beauty  and  fashion  all  the  circles  grace— 
And  scowling  Envy  here  were  out  of  place  ! 
On  every  side  the  wise  and  good  appear — 
The  very  pillars  of  the  state  are  here  ! 
There  sit  the  doctors  of  the  legal  clan ; 
There,  all  the  city's  rulers,  to  a  man ; 
Critics  and  editors,  and  learn'd  M.D.'S, 
Buzzing,  and  busy,  like  a  hive  of  bees ; 
And  there,  as  if  to  keep  us  all  in  order, 
Our  worthy  friends  the  Mayor  and  Recorder  ! 

167 


Well,  peace  be  with  you !    Friends  of  native  worth, 
Yours  is  the  power  to  call  it  into  birth ; 
Yours  is  the  genial  influence  smiles  upon 
The  budding  flowerets  opening  to  the  sun. 
They  all  around  us  court  your  fostering  hand— 
Rear  them  with  care,  in  beauty  they'll  expand — 
With  grateful  odours  well  repay  your  toil, 
Equal  to  those  sprung  from  a  foreign  soil ; 
And  more  Placides  bask  in  your  sunshine  then, 
The  first  of  actors,  and  the  best  of  men. 


168 


NOTES. 


'"Janet  McRea,"  —  Page  33. 

"  WE  seated  ourselves  in  the  shade  of  a  large  pine-tree ;  and  drank  of  a 
spring  that  gurgled  beneath  it  The  Indians  gave  a  groan  and  turned 
their  faces  from  the  water.  They  would  not  drink  of  the  spring  nor  eat 
in  th«>  shade  of  the  tree  ;  but  retired  to  a  ledge  of  rocks  at  no  great  dis 
tance.  I  ventured  to  approach  them  and  inquire  the  cause  of  their  strange 
conduct  One  of  the  Indians  said  in  a  deep  and  solemn  tone,  'that  place 
is  bid  for  the  red-man  ;  the  blood  of  an  innocent  woman,  not  of  our  enemies, 
rests  upon  that  spot  —  she  was  there  murdered.  The  red-man's  word  had 
been  pledged  for  her  safety;  but  the  evil  spirit  made  him  forget  it  She 
lies  buried  there.  No  one  avenged  her  murder,  and  the  Great  Spirit  was 
angry.  That  water  will  make  us  more  thirsty  and  that  shade  will  scorch 
us.  The  stain  of  blood  is  on  our  hands,  and  we  know  not  how  to  wipe  it 
out  It  still  rests  upon  us,  do  what  we  will.'  I  could  get  no  more  from 
tin-in;  they  were  silent,  even  for  Indians.  It  was  the  death  of  Miss 
McRea  they  alluded  to.  She  was  betrothed  to  a  young  American  by  the 
name  of  Jones,  who  had  taken  sides  with  the  British  and  become  a  captain 
in  their  service.  The  lovers,  however,  had  managed  to  keep  up  a  corres 
pondence,  and  he  was  informed,  after  a  battle  in  which  he  distinguished 
himself  for  his  bravery,  that  his  inamorata  was  concealed  in  a  house  a  few 
miles  from  Sandy-Hill.  As  it  was  dangerous  for  him  to  go  to  her,  he  en- 
gaged  a  party  of  confidential  Indians  to  take  his  horse  to  her  residence 
and  bring  her  to  his  tent  in  safety.  He  urged  her  in  his  letter,  not  to  hesitate 
a  moment  in  putting  herself  under  their  protection ;  and  the  voice  of  a 
lover  is  law  to  a  confiding  woman.  They  proceeded  on  their  journey,  and 
stopped  to  rest  under  a  large  pine-tree  near  a  spring  —  the  one  at  which 
we  drank.  Here  they  were  met  by  another  party  of  Indians,  also  sent  by 
the  impatient  lover,  when  a  quarrel  arose  about  her  which  terminated  in 
her  assassination.  One  of  the  Indians  pulled  the  poor  girl  from  her  horse 
and  another  struck  his  tomahawk  into  her  forehead  —  tore  off  her  scalp 
and  gashed  her  breast  They  then  covered  her  body  with  leaves  and  left 
her  under  the  huge  pine-tree.  One  of  the  Indians  made  her  lover  ac 
quainted  with  the  facts,  and  another  brought  him  her  scalp.  He  knew 
the  long  brown  tfMMtf  Mb  McRea,  and  in  defiance  of  all  danger*,  flew 
to  the  spot  to  realize  the  horrid  aceoe.  He  tore  away  the  thinly-spread 
leaves  —  clasped  the  still  bleeding  body  in  his  arms;  and,  wrapping  it  in 


his  cloak,  was  about  bearing  it  away,  when  he  was  prevented  by  his  su 
perior  officers,  who  ordered  the  poor  girl  to  be  buried  on  the  spot  where 
she  had  been  immolated.  After  this  event  a  curse  seemed  to^rest  upon 
the  red-man.  In  every  battle  their  forces  were  sadly  cut  up ;  the  Ameri 
cans  attacking  them  most  furiously  whenever  they  could  get  an  opportu 
nity.  The  prophets  of  the  Indians  had  strange  auguries ;  they  saw  con 
stantly  in  the  clouds,  the  form  of  the  murdered  white  woman,  invoking  the 
blast  to  overwhelm  them,  and  directing  all  the  power  and  fury  of  the  Ameri 
cans  to  exterminate  every  red-man  of  the  forest,  who  had  committed  the 
hateful  deed  of  breaking  his  faith  and  staining  the  tomahawk  with  the 
blood  of  a  woman,  whose  spirit  still  called  for  revenge.  It  was  agreed  among 
the  Indians  in  a  body  to  move  silently  away,  and  by  morning's  light  not  a 
red-man  was  to  be  found  near  the  British  troops.  Captain  Jones,  too,  was 
no  more.  In  the  battle  he  led  on  his  men  with  that  fearlessness  and  fury 
that  distressed  minds  often  do  ;  but  his  men  grew  tired  of  following  him  in 
such  perilous  attacks,  and  began  to  fly.  As  he  returned  to  rally  them  he 
received  a  ball  in  his  back.  Burning  with  shame,  love  and  frenzy,  he 
turned  and  threw  himself  on  the  bayonets  of  the  enemy,  and  at  once  closed 
his  agonies  and  expiated  his  political  offence.  He  was  laid  by  the  side  of 
her  he  had  so  ardently  loved  and  lamented." — Events  of  the  Revolution. 


[Extract  of  a  Letter  to  Henry  Unwell.] 

b  •*  Woodman,  spare  that  tree." —  Page  39. 

Riding  out  of  town  a  few  days  since,  in  company  with  a  friend,  who  was 
once  the  expectant  heir  of  the  largest  estate  in  America,  but  over  whose 
worldly  prospects  a  blight  has  recently  come,  he  invited  me  to  turn  down 
a  little  romantic  woodland  pass,  not  far  from  Bloomingdale.  "  Your  ob 
ject?"  inquired  I.  "Merely  to  look  once  more  at  an  old  tree  planted  by 
my  grandfather,  near  a  cottage  that  was  once  my  father's."  «« The  place 
is  yours  then  1"  said  I.  "  No,  my  poor  mother  sold  it,"  and  I  observed  a 
slight  quiver  of  the  lip,  at  the  recollection  of  that  circumstance.  "Dear 
mother !"  resumed  my  companion,  "we  passed  many  happy,  happy  days,  in 
that  old  cottage;  but  it  is  nothing  to  me  now  —  father,  mother,  sisters, 
cottage  —  all  are  gone  ;"  and  a  paleness  overspread  his  fine  countenance, 
and  a  moisture  came  to  his  eyes  as  he  spoke.  After  a  moment's  pause, 
he  added,  "Don't  think  me  foolish.  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  I  never 
ride  out  but  I  turn  down  this  lane  to  look  at  that  old  tree.  I  have  a 
thousand  recollections  about  it,  and  I  always  greet  it  as  a  familiar  and 
well-remembered  friend.  In  the  by-gone  summer-time  it  was  a  friend  in 
deed.  Under  its  branches  I  often  listened  to  the  good  counsel  of  my  pa 
rents  and  had  such  gambols  with  my  sisters !  Its  leaves  are  all  off*  now,  so 

170 


you  won't  sec  it  to  advantage*  for  it  is  a  glorious  old  fellow  in  «r mmcr  ; 
but  I  like  it  full  as  well  in  wintertime/*  These  words  were  scarcely 
uttered,  when  my  companion  cried  out,  •'  There  it  is  ! "  Near  the  tree 
stood  an  old  man  with  his  coat  offj  sharpening  an  axe.  He  was  the  occu 
pant  of  the  cottage.  **  What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked  my  friend  with 
great  anxiety.  *•  What's  that  to  you  ?"  was  the  reply.  "  You're  not  going 
to  cut  that  tree  down  surely?"  "Yes,  but  I  am  though,"  said  the 
woodman.  **  What  for,"  inquired  my  companion,  almost  choked  with  emo 
tion.  ••  What  for  !  Why,  because  I  think  proper  to  do  so.  What  for  ?  I 
like  that !  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  for.  This  tree  makes  my  dwelling  un 
healthy  ;  it  stands  too  near  the  house  ;  prevents  the  moisture  from  exha 
ling,  and  renders  us  liable  to  fever-and-ague."  "  Who  told  you  that  ?" 
••  Dr.  Smith."  "  Have  you  any  other  reason  for  wishing  to  cut  it  down  ?" 
"Yes,  I  am  getting  old  ;  the  woods  are  a  great  way  off,  and  this  tree  is  of 
some  value  to  me  to  burn."  He  was  soon  convinced,  however,  that  the 
story  about  the  fever-and-ague  was  a  mere  fiction,  for  there  never  had 
been  a  case  of  that  disease  in  the  neighbourhood ;  and  then  was  asked 
what  the  tree  was  worth  for  firewood  !  "  Why,  when  it  is  down,  about 
ten  dollars."  "Suppose  I  should  give  you  that  sum,  would  you  let  it 
stand  ? "  "  Yes."  "  You  are  sure  of  that  ? "  «  Positive."  «•  Then  give 
me  a  bond  to  that  effect."  1  drew  it  up  ;  it  was  witnessed  by  his  daugh 
ter  ;  the  money  was  paid,  and  we  left  the  place  with  an  assurance  from 
the  young  girl,  who  looked  as  smiling  and  beautiful  as  a  Hebe,  that  the 
tree  should  stand  as  long  as  she  lived.  We  returned  to  the  road,  and 
pursued  our  ride.  These  circumstances  made  a  strong  impression  upon 
my  mind,  and  furnished  me  with  the  materials  for  the  song  I  send  you. 

New-York,  February  1, 1837. 


e  «  The  Chieftain's  Daughter:1— Page  66. 

«  Every  part  of  the  brief  but  glorious  life  of  Pocahontas  is  calculated  to 
produce  a  thrill  of  admiration,  and  to  reflect  the  highest  honour  on  her 
name.  The  most  memorable  event  of  her  life  is  thus  recorded.  After  a 
long  consultation  among  the  Indians,  the  fate  of  Captain  Smith,  who  was 
the  leader  of  the  first  colony  in  Virginia,  was  decided.  The  conclave  re- 
suraed  their  silent  gravity  —  two  huge  stones  were  placed  near  the  water's 
edge,  Smith  was  lashed  to  them,  and  his  head  was  laid  down,  as  a  prepa 
ration  for  beating  out  his  brains  with  war-clubs.  Powhattan  raised  the 
fatal  instrument,  and  the  savage  multitude  with  their  blood-stained  wea 
pons  stood  near  their  king,  silently  waiting  the  prisoner's  last  moment 
But  Smith  was  not  destined  thus  to  perish.  Pocahontas,  the  beloved 
daughter  of  the  king,  rushed  forward,  fell  upon  her  knees,  and  with  tears 

171 


and  entreaties  prayed  that  the  victim  might  be  spared.  The  royal  savage 
rejected  her  suit  and  commanded  her  to  leave  Smith  to  his  fate.  Grown 
frantic  at  the  failure  of  her  supplications,  Pocahontas  threw  her  arms  about 
Smith,  and  laid  her  head  upon  his,  her  raven  hair  falling  around  his  neck 
and  shoulders,  declaring  she  would  perish  with  or  save  him.  The  Indians 
gasped  for  breath,  fearing  that  Powhattan  would  slay  his  child  for  taking 
such  a  deep  interest  in  the  fate  of  one  he  considered  his  deadliest  foe. 
But  human  nature  is  the  same  everywhere  :  the  war-club  dropped  from 
the  monarch's  hand —  his  brow  relaxed  —  his  heart  softened;  and,  as  he 
raised  his  brave  daughter  to  his  bosom,  and  kissed  her  forehead,  he  re- 
versed  his  decree,  and  directed  Smith  to  be  set  at  liberty  !  Whether  the 
regard  of  this  glorious  girl  for  Smith  ever  reached  the  feeling  of  love  is 
not  known.  No  favour  was  ever  expected  in  return.  *  I  ask  nothing  of 
Captain  Smith,'  said  she,  in  an  interview  she  afterwards  had  with  him  in 
England,  •  in  recompense  for  what  I  have  done,  but  the  boon  of  living  in 
his  memory.'  John  Randolph,  was  a  lineal  descendant  of  this  noble  wo 
man,  and  was  wont  to  pride  himself  upon  the  honour  of  his  descent.  Po 
cahontas  died  in  the  twenty-second  year  of  her  age." — Sketches  of  Virginia. 


d  «  Sally  St.  Clair."  —  Page  87. 

Sally  St.  Clair  was  a  beautiful,  dark-eyed,  Creole  girl.  The  whole 
treasury  of  her  love  was  lavished  upon  Sergeant  Jasper,  who  on  one 
occasion  had  the  good  fortune  to  save  her  life.  The  prospect  of  their 
separation  almost  maddened  her.  To  sever  her  long  jetty  ringlets  from 
her  exquisite  head,  to  dress  in  male  attire,  to  enrol  herself  in  the  corps  to 
which  he  belonged,  and  follow  his  fortunes  in  the  wars,  unknown  to  him, 
was  a  resolution  no  sooner  conceived  than  taken.  In  the  camp  she  attract 
ed  no  particular  attention  except  on  the  night  before  the  battle,  when  she 
was  noticed  bending  over  his  couch,  like  a  good  and  gentle  spirit,  as  if 
listening  to  his  dreams.  The  camp  was  surprised  and  a  fierce  conflict  endued. 
The  lovers  were  side  by  side  in  the  thickest  of  ihe  fight ;  but,  endeavouring 
to  turn  away  a  lance  aimed  at  the  heart  of  Jasper,  the  poor  girl  received  it 
in  her  own,  and  fell  bleeding  at  his  feet.  After  the  victory,  her  name  and 
sex  were  discovered,  and  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  corps  when  Sally  St. 
Clair  was  laid  in  her  grave,  near  the  river  Santee,  in  a  green  shady  nook  that 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  stolen  out  of  Paradise. —  Tales  of  Marion's  Men. 


e  "A/i  /  love  is  not  a  garden  flower."  —  Page  150. 

The  first  verse  of  this  song  was  suggested  by  a  passage  in  Sheridan 
Knowles's  play  of  the  Hunchback. 

m 


-sir 


